The Mixtape: Halloween Remix Edition
by Calebski
Summary: A Halloween inspired collection of song prompted one-shots, featuring Deathmione pairings; Hermione x Evander Avery, Hermione x Reuben Yaxley, Hermione x Fenrir Greyback, Hermione x Antonin Dolohov, Hermione x Felix Mulciber, Hermione x Tom Riddle and bonus Hermione x Regulus Black.
1. TRACK 1: Heathens

_A/N Hi guys, as it's Halloween soon, I have been working on this fic, a special edition of The Mixtape with spooky song choice inspiration for some Deathmione one-shots. All chapters will be posted today. This was going to go up on the day but I don't think I will be around so am posting now._

 _Big enthusiastic hugs to Kreeblim Sabs who alpha read this series and helped me get all of these out on time!_

 _Enjoy, and HAPPY HALLOWEEN!_

* * *

 **TRACK 1: Heathens**

[Hermione Granger x Evander Avery (Avery Jr)]

 _All my friends are heathens, take it slow  
_ _Wait for them to ask you who you know  
_ _Please don't make any sudden moves  
_ _You don't know the half of the abuse_

Heathens / Twenty One Pilots [2016]

* * *

 _Fan casts: Evander Avery (Avery Jr) - Colin Morgan / Thorfinn Rowle - Alexander Skarsgard / Rabastan Lestrange - Colin O'Donoghue / Ade Selwyn - Donald Glover_

* * *

Hermione's head tilted back as she stared up at the imposing grey prism dominating the bleak skyline, she felt nothing.

She was numb, physically, mentally and emotionally. It felt like being in suspended animation, waiting for the reality of the last few months to hit, sometimes she wondered if it ever would. Pulled from her blankness by an aggressive tug on her arm, she moved in compliance with the guards shepherding immediately, without question or hesitation; it wouldn't do any good, there was no procrastination time left for her.

Hermione hadn't been sure what to expect from the inside of the prison walls, but somehow what she found was worse than she had envisioned. The muted greyness that had swamped her vision on the outside of the rock was magnified here. It was darker than she could ever have imagined and colder, so much colder, she had barely made it over the threshold before she could swear she sensed the ingrained damp from the floors running unhindered up her legs.

The sober man at her side directed her to a desk manned by a woman with a mean looking face and flaxen hair pulled into a severe-looking high ponytail; she regarded Hermione with a slight quirk of her lips that didn't meet her hard eyes. The guard gave her name to the witch, the first words he had spoken since _collecting_ her, and Hermione was ushered behind a curtain to her right, thin grey fabric was stretched over a concertina wire frame reminding her of visits to the muggle doctor when she was little.

She was commanded to strip in harsh tones and Hermione, having experienced _processing_ before now, didn't so much as blink in protest as the woman made no move to leave; she hadn't expected her to. Her belongings were taken from her, what little things she had left, nothing of particular consequence. Under the watchful eyes of the woman she sacrificed one unflattering set of robes, which were not her own, for another, thinner set, and then moved back from around the curtain ready, or not, for what was to come next.

* * *

As the little lift chugged up the shaft Hermione focused on the sounds it made, the clanging of rusty metal against stone, the chaffing sound of the guards too-tight uniform as he stretched forward to begin writing up his report. She should be scared she thought blankly, Hermione Granger, a member of the _Golden Trio_ and Hogwarts prefect would have been scared. But she wasn't, whoever she was now. Not because the situation wasn't dire, it very much was, not because she had any hope of making it out of there alive, she didn't, but she felt nothing.

When the lift came to a shuddering halt, she placed a hand on the wall of the metal box to stop herself from toppling forward. She had never quite gained back the weight she lost during that last year of the war, and she still struggled with her balance, it didn't seem like she would ever look like herself again now. _Why should the outside revert? The inside certainly had not._

As she once again got lost inside herself, the guard became impatient and gripped her upper arm tight enough to bruise. Hermione didn't say anything; no reaction even crossed her features, she just followed alongside him trying to avoid the dampest patches of the floor, so as not to soak her standard issue canvas shoes.

No laces… that was... _interesting._

Hermione kept her eyes forward as much as possible on the walk down the narrow corridor, though she detected flickers of movement in her peripheral vision on either side, from the inhabited cells. She could have probably named everyone in this wing on sight. She would certainly be recognised, or maybe she wouldn't be, she didn't recognise the person in the mirror anymore.

They reached the very end of the dank line, and the guard muttered something under his breath waving his wand around the bars, and they moved open slowly. He jostled her forward, but before she could move entirely away, he caught her wrist in a cruel grip, his fingers tightening to the point where he could have crushed the bone.

"I'm going to make your life miserable Granger" he spat lowly before producing a metallic looking bangle and forcing it onto her hand. As it fastened around her wrist, she felt a stabbing sensation move straight from her arm up into her core ripping a gasp from her throat, before she stilled panting to get her breath back.

The guard appeared angered by her lack of response and let go of her arm not bothering to hide his complete revulsion before pushing her roughly away from him by her shoulder and slamming the bars shut.

Hermione quietly stepped over to the grey mattress that was lying in a darkened corner, and sat neatly, with her legs folded around herself. She shut her eyes until the humming from her centre adjusted then she let her head fall back against the war behind her and wished tears would fall.

* * *

' _The cold… Don't make me go back there'._

The words she had heard Sirius call out in his sleep, so many years before, came back to her that first night, at least she assumed it was night. There was only a small opening in the outer wall of the cell, no more than a couple of missing bricks allowing her to see the sky, but the visage was so muted it was hard to tell what time it was.

She had been walking back up to her room while staying at Grimmauld Place, over Christmas in their fifth year and she had heard mumbling in the study. Hesitantly creeping forward she had spotted him, the last of his noble house, sprawled inelegantly on a time ravaged sofa, it's once opulent fabric as tattered as the rest of the decaying house, more like a crypt than a habitable dwelling. Hermione had moved to stand next to him as his face contorted in pained expression after pained expression, as he unknowingly whimpered out his fears of being sent back to the place that had robbed him of himself.

Up until that moment, Hermione had wondered why he never made improvements to his childhood home, why he hadn't at least attempted to turn the place into something that would resemble a haven, though she thought she understood now.

The dementors had tortured Sirius, hovering over him for twelve long years they had stolen away his reason, his happiness, and his youth. They weren't here anymore. Hermione supposed she should feel grateful for their absence, but she could not. The cloaked figures would have made it quicker.

* * *

The bars to her cell opening made Hermione sit up; she wasn't sure of the last time she had moved, it could have been hours or even days, her perception of everything, including time, seemed to blur here. She had been tracking the progression of a small bug along the ceiling for a time, but she couldn't perceive how long ago that was now.

"Get up Granger," the guard barked, and Hermione stepped to her feet and moved to the opening.

Once she was within his grasp, a white metal collar was fastened around her neck, tightened to the point where it was biting into her skin and made puffing in air difficult; she said nothing. As she turned her head, a long pole was attached to the back of the restraint that was like a choker, it was then used as a handle of sorts to force her down the corridor. She had seen something similar used on dogs, or dangerous animals, she supposed that was what she was now.

Hermione idly wondered where they were heading for a moment but then she recalled a conversation with Kingsley, she had sat before him in thin robes and uncomfortably felt like she was getting his room dirty just by being there. 'Changes to Azkaban' he had said, what he had gone on to explain was meaningless rhetoric, but there were some specifics, notably, _showers and exercise_.

"Are you excited Granger?" the guard whispered into her ear, and Hermione dropped her face to the dirty floor instinctively concentrating on her now tatty shoes. "You'll get to meet your new _friends_ , they have all been _dying_ to meet you" his voice was low and dripping with malicious glee.

Hermione didn't raise her face, and he jerked forward to grip her hair tightly, so tight her eyes watered involuntarily.

"Always did think you were above everyone else, well you'll talk soon enough" he threatened, before he let go of her hair and readjusted his grip on the pole at her neck. He pushed it forward before she was ready, making her feel as if the front of the collar would crush her windpipe before he increased his pace, forcing her the rest of the way at double speed.

When it seemed as if they had walked the entire length of the building, they came to a heavily vaulted door. The guard roughly detached the pole from the back of her neck, but the collar remained, _it must have more magic suppressants than the bangle_ she reasoned before the door was ripped open and she was pushed inside.

The room revealed was about ten times the size of the cell where she had spent her time so far, the walls were a muted cream, though it was apparent that the original colour was probably a white that had long since aged, judging by the peeling of the walls. She blinked. Muted or not, it was the lightest colour Hermione had seen for days and her eyes took a little while to adjust.

The door behind her slammed shut, and she heard the clanking of several bolts followed by the dim pressure of wards being applied. She moved away from the entrance and as she began to see more than the brightness she detected dark shapes that were clinging to the edges of the room, nine in total. Hermione wasn't sure if this was all who remained or whether ten was the maximum capacity of the chamber.

She was filled with the urge to retreat, to make herself smaller, old Hermione would have backed herself against a wall, but survival had been critical to that girl. Taking careful, slow steps she moved passed a rickety trolley with a few, sad looking books resting on top. She grabbed the one closest to her hand and debated her next move. There were tables, three of them, but they were all on the other side of the room, _where they were_.

It wasn't self-preservation that made her wish to keep her distance, those instincts had been long suppressed, it wasn't even the expected taunting or probable violence, she just had no desire to be anywhere near other human life. There were bars where she was kept now for a reason. Instead, she made her way to the nearest wall and dropped down in front of it to crouch on the floor; it was no cleaner than anywhere else, but it did at least appear dry. As she opened the book in her grasp she could feel all nine sets of eyes on her, but she didn't flinch, she was _well used_ to eyes on her by now, eyes that held all emotions and intentions.

After tense moments passed the Death Eaters resumed whatever it was they had been doing before she arrived, she occasionally spied them over the top of what she discovered was a compendium of poetry. A small cluster were around one table, conversing in low tones while the rest were fanned out, standing either alone or in pairs.

In one of her quick eye darts, she spotted Ade Selwyn; standing alone, mumbling to himself; his insufficient robes hung off his diminished frame, exposing the gaunt lines of his neck and collarbone. Skin that had once looked like darkened caramel now looked sickly and marbled though it was his face where you could see the real extent of the decay that had begun to set in. His eyes were blank at first glance but now and then there was a gleam there that was maniacal, she could see twitching spasms by his right eye and trembles in his hand.

She averted her eyes and tried to concentrate on her book, or at least give the appearance that she was doing so. She heard murmurs, her name being gritted out through clenched teeth, 'mudblood' being excitedly whispered but she kept looking down, counting in her head to one hundred and then turning a page to at least appear properly engaged.

A shadow fell over her some time later, the darkness creeping up over her shoes and crossed legs till the shade seeped into the parchment of her subterfuge prop. She mentally comprised a list of the worst possible scenarios before looking up to meet the scrutinising gaze of Evander Avery. His aristocratic head was tilted to the side, regarding her quizzically, there was no trace of fury or even disgust in his features, on the whole, he was calm, assessing. Despite their positions, him looming over her, she felt no threat, at least not one that was immediate and so she waited, remaining still until he would make his move.

Hermione had never seen him _this close_ up before, their interactions during the war had been limited, nothing more than swirling robes and slight glimpses. She had heard him talked of though, the quiet Ravenclaw, a gifted boy in his day, solely focussed on academic pursuits and one of the highest achieving students Hogwarts had ever seen, _before her_.

Hermione belatedly realised that she had read some of his poetry. There had been a set of verses framed on the fourth-floor corridor, that she had found herself lost in one day. Professor Flitwick had found her, giving her a wan smile as he regarded her face almost pushed against the glass, he told her about him, how he lamented that they had lost Avery to the other side of the war.

 _There is beauty where ever you seek to find it in this life_

 _Be it in the delicately carved handle of the knife in your back_

 _Or the mottled pattern of bruising against your skin_

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice cool and crisp.

Hermione thought he sounded intelligent which was illogical; you couldn't detect acumen from such a sentence. It suited him, though, his voice, matched the piercing nature of his eyes and the sharpness of his cheekbones, that was a perfect word for this one, _sharp_.

She held up her book, in lieu of any answer, though she knew that wasn't what he was referring to.

The dark matted hair that framed his face fell forward as he swept his gaze over her to the book and back again and his soft lips broke into a smile.

* * *

Hermione laid back on the thin cot; she tried to shut her eyes a few times but they just fell back open, sleep wouldn't come here. She could hear noises from the neighbouring cells, though only quiet shufflings, it was probable that it was still daytime. Nighttime, from what she had been able to discern so far was much louder, she hadn't managed to get into to the rhythm of the place yet, mainly as she wasn't trying.

As she had been straining to listen to the prisoners around her, she detected a dripping sound, but couldn't ascertain whether it was from inside the cell or not, it could have been coming from anywhere; the rock was perpetually damp.

'Drip… drip… drip… drip… drip'

The consistency of the noise felt like beats against the side of her brain, the steadiness working her up and agitating her senses.

'Drip… drip… drip… drip… drip'

It was just like that, the blood, it dripped too, she had never thought about it having a sound before, _but it did_.

'Drip… drip… drip… drip… drip'

As it fell from the bedside table onto the hardwood floor, pooling there, staining, remaining.

Hermione threw a hand over her eyes to keep them shut. _Remember… REMEMBER_ , she commanded herself, but she couldn't, it was only ever just flashes. When she was still at the Ministry, being held, she could piece together more, but the noises here interrupted her thoughts, she couldn't hang on to the impressions. She couldn't even be certain what was real.

Somewhere down the corridor, a guard must have been on patrol, they were never far away here, they liked them all to _feel_ their presence, everything was a mind game. The war never really ended, the enemy just changed.

'Thunk… thunk… thunk… thunk… thunk'

The repeated heavy footfalls grated her nerves, and she tried again to block it all out, but it was too much.

'Thunk… thunk… thunk… thunk… thunk'

Her heartbeat, beating right out of her chest, so fast it sounded like an accelerating train. It pounded in her ears so loud she couldn't think, couldn't catch a breath.

'Thunk… thunk… thunk… thunk… thunk'

The pounding on the door, they were back, and she was there and Ron… he wasn't moving, _why wasn't he moving?_

Hermione gripped the edges of her robes in frustration, giving in and opening her eyes to stare impassively at the ceiling in defeat. The rats were back again; they were spelled away often, but it wasn't enough to dissuade what must have been an entire colony housed within the walls.

'Scratch… scratch… scratch… scratch… scratch'

She could hear them scuttling across the floors, hear their tiny, clawed feet as they searched out their food. The vermin didn't just exist here, _they flourished_.

'Scratch… scratch… scratch… scratch… scratch'

She attacked her hands, her arms, everywhere, the blood, _his blood_ was all over them, and it wasn't coming off, _why wouldn't it come off?_

'Scratch… scratch… scratch… scratch… scratch'

That first set off robes, so stiff they made a noise when she moved, whenever she moved. So harsh they made her skin break out in rashes, pulling the blood to the surface, she didn't feel it.

* * *

Evander was waiting at the back of the dirty room again, standing amongst his _brothers_. He had forgone the offering of books they left on the side having already almost memorised every ill kept page. Shaking the tension from off his shoulders, he sat in his usual spot, at his usual table and tried not to watch for the door. She wasn't here yet, though there was no doubt she would be back, the guards had looked delighted when they had pushed her through the door the last time, what they anticipated the assembled would do, who knew?

Did they think any of the doomed men here were interested in enacting revenge on someone who had been little more than a child during the war? Well maybe some amongst them would, but then again some of them weren't in charge of their faculties anymore. Anyone who had any of their cognitive processing ability would have been able to recognise that the shell that was deposited in the room was not the same girl that had been fighting for so long.

For himself he harboured no desire to cause her harm, he was much more moved to study her. His eyes had regarded her almost desperately, taking in every tiny detail and committing it to memory. The tightness of the collar they had pressed around her throat, how it made her breath rasp as she tried to draw it in and blow it out without drawing attention to herself. How she blinked when she entered as if she was bathing in the moon's glow for the first time, how she averted her gaze till it settled on the tips of her tiny feet.

He had watched her pick up the poetry book absently and slide down the wall, landing in a small, tidy heap on the floor. He wasn't the only one watching, they all were, there wasn't much in the way of 'new' around here. She was small, too skinny and incredibly detached from the whole world around her. She should have been terrified walking into the room and yet he had detected no fear from her. Instead of cowering Hermione Granger had turned the pages of the tattered book in front of her systemically, rhythmically, too blankly to be reading.

 _In this now defunct game the broken princess was left lying amongst the ashes._

What had she done to wind up here?

He remembered when he was five or six finding a bird in the gardens at the Manor; it's colouring had stuck out in the crispness of the winter day. Bright, exotic blue plumes had sung against the snow that blanketed the ground. Its body was slumped, with one wing badly broken and Evander had lifted it gently into one hand, resolving to take it inside. His Father had belittled his behaviour, aggressively taunting him for his bleeding heart and Evander hadn't bothered to enlighten him, rather, he let him believe whatever he wanted about his actions. Despite his conduct he hadn't expected the bird to live, he had spared no thought of nursing it back to health or any other such nonsense. The mercy he had offered was simpler in intent. He couldn't have bared the idea of leaving a creature so beautiful to die in a place so harsh, so foreign to its existence.

 _With my hand, I do not offer salvation, eternal life or peace, but hope, abstract and blissfully uncertain._

He had watched the girl with the glazed eyes, her once exuberant curls falling around her face like a shroud of withered feathers, and he had made the decision to speak to her. She had held up her book, offering what had, at first, seemed like a vacant answer to a probing question, until he had studied her, then his countenance changed, she had done as much as she could, probably more than she had for a long time.

* * *

Hermione had known it would come to this eventually. While she was largely numb to the world around her she was still aware, she still had a keen mind, it was a curse in a way, being less lucid would have been a blessing. She had seen the guards, sensed their simmering fury; it had started when she had first been brought into the holding cells at The Ministry, and she hadn't expected anything different here.

Ron had been popular at Hogwarts and then even more so afterwards. Always had time to stop for a drink after training with the guys, always happy to share another tale of the _adventures of the Golden Trio_. What she had done, _whatever she had done_ , had taken away one of their own, she was going to have to pay. Though her lack of reaction wasn't affected she knew they wanted more from her, they _needed_ her to suffer.

There were three of them that day when they came to take her to the shower block; she had eyed them slowly, moving her gaze from face to face. She saw it there, on the set of their jaws, in the tension in their shoulders. If only she could have given them what they wanted, maybe then this would never have had to happen. Then again she had never been one for pretence, even when her life was at stake, she had never been an actress, and right now she couldn't have screamed or begged if her life depended on it, which in a way, she supposed it already did.

When they made it into the outer room of the shower block, she was roughly pushed down into a hard backed chair. She kept her gaze fixed straight ahead as the door was warded, kept it straight ahead as the scissors were produced and kept it straight ahead as the long strands of her once vibrant curls fell to her feet.

Once they began brandishing the reflective metal in front of her face, she averted her gaze. They may have spoken to her; she couldn't be sure, she got lost again, staring at the worn tiles and tracking the fluttering brown strands. It took an age, but eventually, once her head felt impossibly light, the two male guards left the room leaving her with the mean looking woman she had seen upon entry.

She was stripped and pushed into the nearest shower to stand under water so hot it instantly burnt her skin, she was pulled out again after a few minutes, and left to stand naked in the cold room until the clothes she had been wearing were thrown at her. Typically they would be issued 'new' things, but Hermione was pretty sure as far as she was concerned there would be very little protocol being followed. Once she was dressed she was taken back to her cell, none of the guards said another word.

Hermione waited until they were entirely gone, not just in sight but in noise too, all her time in the dark was forcing her to rely on her other senses. In this place just because you couldn't see a threat, didn't mean it wasn't there. Once they were far away, she raised a hand falteringly to her head to feel the shorn, uneven crop that was left behind. The downy fluff felt so foreign against her skin that she moved her hand away. Instead, she ran her fingers over the top of her worn robes, where locks of her hacked hair gripped among the fibres. She pulled out the longest strands and delicately laid them side by side next to her cot as if they were cut stem roses.

* * *

When she had been told she had a visitor Hermione had sat in the room she was taken to and straightened her robes, she couldn't think of a single person that would have wanted to see her. She didn't move when the door opened behind her, not until her vision was filled with familiar bright blonde hair and pale skin.

"Hello Hermione," Luna said calmly.

For the first time in months, maybe for the first time since that night, when she felt eyes on her she lifted her face and met them directly. Words wouldn't come, maybe they never would, but she could do this, offer some small semblance of her forgotten humanity.

Luna didn't stay long, didn't ask any questions, she just spoke. Her words soft and light bathed Hermione in a gentle kindness that she found harder to deal with than the more common abuse, Luna's demeanour remained open as she filled her in on the news from outside. Harry was going to get married; Hermione felt her throat close a little a that but no sound would come out. Before she left the blonde deposited a large box on the table, filled with books, lots of them and even a couple of decks of muggle playing cards.

"You'll have to share these I'm afraid," she said "you can't have anything in your… room, but I am told you are allowed these in the shared spaces."

Hermione said nothing.

She stood to go, and Hermione sucked in a long breath as Luna reached forward and twined her hand through hers. The moment the other girl's pale flesh collided with hers something inside Hermione broke, she hadn't been touched since… since...

Back in the cell, she curled up on the dirty cot as silent tears streamed down her face.

* * *

The third time he saw the girl her hair was gone, not trimmed, not shortened, gone. Hacked. As she slumped down the wall clutching a book, he regarded the uneven strands and the closeness of her hair. He felt more than saw the reactions of the room around him. While no one from the side of the so-called light, let alone someone as prominent as her, could have been considered welcome there was an us and them that came into force, the traditional rules didn't apply. If they had done it to her, they could attempt to do it to them. He looked at the skin on her arms and could see faint burn marks, whatever it had been it hadn't been enough to blister, just sufficient to leave swathes of unusually red skin.

His eyes skimmed along her flesh to her hands; they were clear, no knicks or bruising.

She had let it happen.

* * *

Her first thought as she jolted awake was one of mild surprise that she had been asleep, it took a moment to register the absolute pain in her throat, it was raw, ripped to ribbons. Her heart rate was not just accelerated it was pounding, the violent beating in her chest making her torso heave unnaturally.

She had been screaming.

Her dreams, a pastiche of shaky bloody hands, too white flesh and spell fire, undercut with pressuring anxiety faded.

She settled her body back into the cot, reaching for the insubstantial blanket to cover her now damp robes. It was moments before the other anguished yells permeated her panic attack, the noise ripping through the brick.

 _Was this the first time her wails had joined the lost soul's chorus?_

* * *

After Evander had come over to her that first day, he made a point of coming to sit next to her for a least a few minutes of their stretch in the room. He seemed pleased with the additional reading material and would often finish a particular page or paragraph only to push the paper into her hands for her to read also. She would nod her head when she was done, and he would take it back. Sometimes he would talk to her, little things about the routine, like how they came to the room once a week, Hermione couldn't be sure if she had assumed it was more or less time passed between stints.

Sometimes others would come over, mainly to just take a closer look at her before they walked away, though Thorfinn Rowle would stay a little longer at times, sitting down next to Avery so they could whisper among themselves.

Hermione was struggling to finish an unfamiliar verse Evander had pushed in front of her when quick steps sounded in front of them. "Stay still" he whispered into her ear.

Rabastan Lestrange came to a halt in front of her, and Evander circled a hand around her wrist, she suppressed a flinch at the warm touch; it was different to how it had felt when Luna reached her, her friend's hand had broken some of her walls down, Evander's fortified them.

"Out of the way, Avery" Rabastan snapped aggressively, moving forward, his canvassed feet almost on her crossed knees.

"Fuck off Lestrange" a voice sounded from the other side of the room, and Thorfinn moved around the stationary observers to settle on her other side, arms folded and leaning, relaxed against the wall.

Rabastan looked down at her with a sneer lighting his lips. "What the fuck are you doing here Granger? How did The Order's pet genius manage to get herself thrown in her with the damned?"

She didn't respond. Rabastan looked like he would froth at the mouth.

"Come on, fair's fair, you know why we're here" he called mockingly and dropped to his knees in a quick movement that made Thorfinn reach an arm forward that he battered away.

"Fuck you Rowle" he spat before ripping up the sleeve of his thin robes and shoving it under her nose "see Granger you know _our_ secrets."

The Dark Mark there was faded a little now, the lines around the skull, and snake marginally blurred, the entrenched ink looking like a child had painted slightly outside the lines. The body of the tattoo was no longer black, more of an off colour, murky grey, just like everything else.

"It still hurts" he muttered, falling back to sit on his bum and folding his legs in front of him.

Hermione moved her hand to cover Evander's fingers, gently pulling them apart and releasing her wrist from his solid grasp. Never taking her eyes from her forearm, she moved up the thin material of her sleeve and exposed her scarred lettering, laying it upturned against her knee. Mirroring his pose.

"Still hurt?" Rabastan croaked.

She nodded.

* * *

The route to the shower block took him past the cell that housed her. He would turn his head, against the force of the collar, just in time to get a glimpse of her folded up on the cot, staring blankly at the ceiling. But, today she was sat in the very centre of the floor, resting on her knees, holding her hands out in front of her and away from her body.

Like she was afraid of them.

* * *

It took months, maybe longer, but finally, with some gentle coaxing from Evander she moved to sit at one of the tables when she came to the room now. He sometimes looked over what she was reading or invited her to swap books with him; there wasn't a lot to pick from. Luna had not been back. Hermione barely took in words but, it was something to do. She often wondered how old Hermione, whole Hermione, would feel about her now. Even reading was lost to her, the words scattered and danced about the pages, mocking her blankness.

A chair in front of her was dragged across the floor, and Louis Travers dropped languidly into it.

"Slow" Evander whispered in her ear, and she softly placed the book she was holding on the table in front of her, before instinctively moving her arm towards Evander. Without any further word between them he gently circled his warm fingers around her wrist, in a secure loop, and she raised her face to the man in front of her.

"Your screaming" he began, approps to nothing "you should start practising Occlumency."

She looked up at him her face revealing nothing.

"It helps with some of the darker thoughts" he explained looking at her intently.

She pondered that for awhile, not sure whether she could even be considered as _having thoughts_ at all anymore, regardless of their spectrum. Her brain now only seemed to list things rather than _think_ of anything, though she supposed she did expend most of her mental energy trying to separate reality from either imagination or hallucination, that didn't leave much for high-level reflection.

"You don't need a wand" he continued before he looked at Evander, the two men stared at each other for a few moments, silent communication moving between them until Evander nodded and Travers looked back at her.

"I could help you."

* * *

When Evander woke from a dream, it was to the bizarre sensation that he felt peaceful. He couldn't remember all of it, only dregs, like the bottom of an abandoned coffee cup, remained.

The little blue bird was still broken, still lost and in the wrong place but it rested on the ledge at the crack in his cell wall and looked out. In the dawning light, he could see how its feathers had been cropped close though they had looked better, healthier than Evander had remembered seeing before.

 _All things in good time_.

* * *

Images fluttered behind Hermione's eyes at regular intervals, when it wasn't that night it was snippets from the days and weeks afterwards. Kingsley's concerned frown, Luna's absent gaze and worst of all Harry's disbelieving expression.

As painful as it was to see them sitting in silent judgement of her it was worse when they were gone, and she was alone again.

* * *

Hermione wasn't sure when he had noticed that she wasn't reading, whether it had been obvious when she was totally faking or only now when she was trying but failing. Either way, he did. He was the most attentive person she had ever known. At some point he started reading to her, his voice would be softer at these times, and he would sit closer. He wouldn't say anything else, just recite the words on the pages in a low register, a steady timber.

It wasn't any easier at first, to process the words that were spoken. Where the ink lines on the parchment had fluttered and scrambled in front of her, Evander's words floated independently of each other as they left his lips, the sentences got out of order, and she couldn't follow the meanings, but the emotion somehow permeated her shell.

Even though he spoke quietly, he spoke beautifully. His delivery was crisp and earnest, and Hermione was left in no doubt that he felt whatever overture he was absorbed in. Over time they came back to her, his glistening words, if she concentrated hard enough, she could get them to lay straight. They didn't help her to feel, but they hinted that one day, there might be a possibility she could emote some semblance of their meaning.

* * *

Evander would drop his inflexion lower when he slipped his own words into those he recited; he could see how she struggled. How he would place a picture in front of her, and it would somehow break as it reached her fingers, how she would faltering move to piece it back together again.

He knew if she were whole she would suss him in an instance, one day she would. Maybe it would be a game then, a real exchange, for now, it was a one-sided volley, but he didn't mind. He couldn't mind; he had no choice but to air the words that climbed this throat.

* * *

The atmosphere was different that day, a slight weight to the air around them might have been imperceptible to anyone else, but to the occupants of that room, stained by war, it was all too clear. Evander sat his chair closer than ever to Hermione as two guards walked into the barren room, halfway through their allotted time, when two more arrived and stood by the door as the first to enter walked forward he glanced at Thorfinn who nodded.

The focus of the invading forces was entirely on Hermione; you would have been forgiven for thinking that she was a lone person in the room from the way they ignored the serial sinners around her. He felt his lip curl into a sneer as he watched the look of contempt flash across the face of the guard that was the closest to their table.

"Look at that Stephens, didn't take her long to _ingratiate_ herself here did it," the first man said staring down at Hermione with a hungry glint in his eye.

"Even evil has use of a whore" the other guard spoke, and they both laughed at his _quip_.

 _Spare me, if there is such a thing as the divine, spare me. Give me boredom, give me eternal damnation but do not make me suffer fools._

"Don't know what he ever saw in you, and you killed him in his sleep, he deserved better than that" the guard continued.

Hermione for her part, ignored their taunting, though he saw her wince as they mentioned the death. It had been the first indication any of them had gotten as to how she had ended up there. He had assumed murder, _why else would they put her here?_ Though murder in his sleep? _Not a chance_.

He reached under the table to circle her small wrist in his hand.

"Always thought she was above where she was from."

"Obviously not happy with her little slice of the fame pie."

They moved closer now, their tones heightening as their anger clouded their judgment, Thorfinn walked through them purposefully to sit at the table in front of himself and Hermione, and he tightened his grip on her arm.

"Uppity bitch" the guard hissed, spittle flying from his mouth. Thorfinn sat forward to wipe the saliva that had connected on her cheek. Hermione didn't move.

"Serves you right that they would put you in here."

"Only thing more suitable than death is to live knowing and being punished for what you have done."

Louis moved then, stopping to stand behind Hermione's chair. An action that didn't surprise him, Travers had been quite taken with the little witch, devoting much of their shared time to helping her with Occlumency despite her reticence, Evander had thought it was for the sheer fact of having something to do, but maybe it was more than that. Her silence was comforting in a way that nothing else here was. Though it was more than her lack of speech, whatever she had done, not that he had honestly ever cared, she was still inherently good, and it shone from within her. Had she been truly what the guards thought of her she wouldn't have been so broken. It was their loss. He hoped it was his gain but it was to soon to tell.

They spat at her before leaving. Evander didn't let go of her wrist until they were broken apart.

* * *

Selwyn made a move on a day that was like every other, with no idea of time or season or without any possible catalyst that she could think of. Not that he would need one, all of them showed signs of mental scarring, most of them had been fighting before she was even born, but Ade had apparently lost his faculties a long time before.

When Hermione walked up to get a book from the rickety trolley he pounced, shoving her against a wall his hand pushing hard into her shoulder as he looked at her wildly, she didn't fight against him; rather she became limp in his hold. Her lack of reaction seemed to confuse him at first before it enraged him and he lifted an arm to wrap a hand around her throat, with the angry touch something in her entire being shifted, unlocking her survival instinct that she had long thought buried.

As he hissed at her in a series of nonsensical ramblings the pressure increased against her windpipe and she lifted her hands and pushed her thumbs into his eyes, just enough so that he dropped her. Without his body pinning her she slumped to the floor, and it was only then that she realised how everyone else was on their feet. Evander rushed forward and was clutching at her chin, moving it this way and that, looking at her neck, saying something, but none of it registered, it had all come back, all of it, tears ran down her face to fast she could barely see.

 _Her and Ron, broken and bloodied standing amongst the rubble at the final battle, he reached out his hand and looped it through hers, and she gave him a hesitant smile, now they could live._

 _Her and Ron as he gave her a ring, as she said yes. Him lifting her off the ground and twirling her body as they both laughed in the orchard of The Burrow._

 _Ron buying her flowers when she got her first job at The Ministry, 'I'm so proud of you, even if it's just for now'._

 _Her and Ron buying their first place, smaller than he had been expecting, but cosy and warm._

 _Her and Ron fitting out the flat, arguing about each other's stuff, little squabbles, the stuff of life._

 _Her and Ron in a heated staring match across the table as he complained about dinner, again, 'why couldn't you just get back earlier, I'm so sick of eating the same thing all the time'._

 _Ron holding her in the night as she woke up screaming, crying, the shadows of the past still clawing into her._

 _Her and Ron being followed by the press everywhere, her hating it and him taking it all in his stride._

 _Ron coming home after an argument holding ice-cream through the kitchen door before he walked in, making her laugh._

 _Her rushing home after work to make him one of his favourites for their anniversary, him smiling and kissing her pastry mix splattered face as she whooped when she pulled the meal out of the oven._

 _Her being knocked over by an enthusiastic photographer and Ron not noticing as he posed for pictures._

 _Their warm little home was becoming colder._

 _Ron being made Auror, a change in shift patterns, coming home later and later._

 _The first time she had found a number in his trousers when she was doing a wash._

 _And the next…_

 _And the next..._

 _Her teaching Ron to drive, screaming as he mounted a roundabout and quick, frantic sex in the backseats in an unobserved lane._

 _Fucking and fighting, fucking and fighting, fucking and fighting._

 _The alcohol, first a few drinks here and there and then always a drink._

 _Her hiding out at work, requesting extra projects and putting in more hours than she needed._

 _Slurring words and lingering touches, unwanted touches._

 _Ron blaming her, blaming her for her lack of maternal instinct._

 _Her looking at Ginny running around the baby clothes store, wondering if she was broken because it didn't excite her._

 _Then that night, the night it had all gone wrong. Ron was there, and he was drunk, so much more drunk than he had ever been before. He thought she was having an affair, something to account for her hours of work and she laughed at him, laughed, she told him all about the numbers, and he blanched._

' _Why didn't you say anything?' he screamed._

' _Because I didn't care' she replied without thinking, and the silence was deafening._

 _He raced towards her then, his eyes glazed, clouded by hurt and whisky; he grabbed her throat, his thick fingers coiling there as he pushed her against the wall… the pain… the anger… the suppressed hurt and humiliation…_

"I snapped," she said into the aged cream room, and she felt all eyes on her, she hadn't spoken since that night; the words felt foreign on her tongue.

She looked up at Evander who was staring at her wide-eyed, he dropped down to sit on the ground next to her and pulled her against his side, not firmly or affectionately but safely, she didn't say anything else, he didn't ask her for anything else.

She felt safe. It was the first emotion she could register having felt for the longest time.

* * *

When she was back in the confines of the cell, Hermione dried her eyes and looked down at the thin bangle on her arm contemplating. When Selwyn had grabbed her, she had felt a surge in her core. She was sure old Hermione would have said it was time to make a moral choice, but old Hermione wasn't there.

* * *

When she sat at the table, the next time Rabastan was there. She read her book warily until he chucked a set of cards at her. "For fuck's sake teach me a game I don't know." She nodded and set up the deck to teach him how to play poker.

* * *

Her speaking did not go back to normal straight away; she had gotten used to saying little and the habit stuck, it wasn't as if there was a great deal to discuss where they were. So when she moved her lips to Evander's ear, he stiffened in surprise before she dropped her metal clad wrist across his poetry volume.

"I may have found a way."

His hand reached up to loop around her wrist holding it tightly, his eyes search hers in silent question, and he nodded before signalling Thorfinn from his side of the room.

Words were unnecessary when people already understood what you were trying to say.

* * *

Hermione stepped over the temporarily incapacitated guard and walked over to Thorfinn cell; it had been decided that while they were without magic, he was the biggest asset. Once the bars clanked open, she released his bracelet, and he pulled her into a firm embrace before walking past her to go to the guard's side. She moved to Avery's cell repeating the process.

In the end, it was all done with very minimal fuss, bar herself and Evander having a silent conversation outside Ade's cell before she pushed ahead and released him.

"He's a liability" Rabastan whispered as he stalked past, dropping a thick coat over her shoulders.

"Aren't' we all" she replied, and he smirked at her.

Now they were stood at the edge of the crumbling rock looking out across the raging sea, Evander leant forward and circled her wrist with his delicate fingers.

"Hermione?"

She looked up at him, the man she knew to be detached enough from life's experience to be a monster, a man that had now become her anchor and nodded. His face broke into a warm smile, the kind of smile that made her feel heat in the tips of her fingers, made her feel like she might be able to return it one day.

He stepped forward and laid a kiss on her forehead, running his empty hand through her shorn hair.

* * *

 _And now they're outside ready to bust  
_ _It looks like you might be one of us_


	2. TRACK 2: Lullaby

**TRACK 2:** **Lullaby**

[Hermione Granger x Reuben Yaxley (Yaxley)]

 _On candystripe legs the spiderman comes  
_ _Softly through the shadow of the evening sun  
_ _Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead  
_ _Looking for the victim shivering in bed  
_ _Searching out fear in the gathering gloom and suddenly!  
_ _A movement in the corner of the room!  
_ _And there is nothing I can do  
_ _When I realize with fright  
_ _That the spiderman is having me for dinner tonight..._

Lullaby / The Cure [1989]

* * *

 _Fan casts: Reuben Yaxley - Richard Armitage_

* * *

 _Thump… Thump… Thump_

Hermione woke to an aggressive sound ripping her from her dreams, and she frowned pointlessly at her bedroom ceiling. It felt like only minutes ago that she had closed her eyes and yet when she stretched to look at the softly blinking alarm clock it was somehow gone ten. A few months ago that would have been a surprise; she had never been in the habit of sleeping late, preferring to get up and face the day, lately however she had been struggling to get up before lunch.

Immediately following the war she had slept for days at a time, her body and mind desperate for some respite. That was until she moved out on her own. Having decided to go back and live at her parent's old house, a decision that she still questioned the sense of almost daily, she had been plagued by insomnia and barely felt like she had any sleep at all.

After one too many meet ups where Hermione was falling asleep into her coffee, Ginny had insisted she visited a healer and so, after a lot of prodding, she had gone to St. Mungo's, only for them to find not a single thing was wrong with her.

In a way Hermione had expected their diagnosis, she knew she never seemed to have any problem getting to sleep. Her Dad had suffered from sleep deprivation and used to talk about how he would lay in bed each night, wide awake and frustrated, too tired to do anything to distract himself, but too awake to sleep. That was not the case for Hermione; every night her eyes would close as soon as her head hit the pillow but she never woke up feeling refreshed.

 _Thump… Thump… Thump_

The front door.

Hermione sighed and dragged herself from out of the warm, comfortable bed, shrugging on a dressing gown and moving down the stairs, doing her best to ignore the protests from her tired limbs. She felt sore all over like she had spent the night running a marathon instead of tucked up safely in her room.

The team at St. Mungo's' hadn't been able to shed any light on that either. Nothing in her results could explain her increased muscle fatigue or her bruises; repeatedly occurring patterns, comprised of tiny mottled marks over her torso and legs, nor could they explain how the bruising always seemed to be old.

When Hermione reached her front door, she opened it just a slither, not wanting her nosy neighbours to see into her house or that she wasn't yet dressed. When she looked through the crack, she met the concerned expression of Harry. She allowed herself a moment of resting her head against the back of the door before she stepped to the side and he barrelled into the hall.

"Merlin you look like hell Mione," he said instead of greeting, looking at her slack jawed.

"Thanks very much" she responded dryly, rolling her eyes and heading into the kitchen to put the kettle on, she needed caffeine to get through this conversation.

"You know I don't mean it like that" Harry called after her.

Hermione clattered around getting the drinks while Harry settled himself at the table.

"We haven't seen you," he said semi accusingly "what's going on Mione? Work told me you had gone sick."

"I am sick" she snapped defensively. Thought she felt guilt at the same time, she had been avoiding anything social for over a week, her tiredness made her irritable and less able to be around people than normal, two days ago that extended to work. _She was sick_ , at least she thought she was, she wasn't sure anymore

"That's just not like you," Harry said picking up the cup she had scooted across to him "is there something going on? Something your not telling me?"

Hermione read the concern in his gaze and her attitude softened. It suddenly seemed self-indulgent to haul up into the house and shut herself off from the world. She reached forward, laying a hand over his.

"It's nothing Harry, well, I'm just tired all the time" she sighed taking a fortifying swig of her strong coffee.

"Nightmares?" he asked knowingly, but she shook her head.

"No I don't think so" she replied honestly.

In the first few months following her ordeal at Malfoy Manor she had been besieged by nightmares, graphic, sensory, retellings of her torture, only at night her point of view was from above, and she was forced to relieve it like a spectator, unable to help the girl screaming for her life.

She set her coffee cup down. She had always woken covered in a light sweat and agitated when those dreams struck and that hadn't been happening.

"Look Hermione" Harry began again, his tone softening "why don't you come over for dinner tomorrow yeah? Stay over with my and Ginny for a few days, not getting out can't be helping. Then if you still feel bad we will take you to the healers again, if we all go on mass, they're bound to do something."

Hermione wanted to bristle, people mothering her didn't feel natural, but the plea in Harry's tone stopped her, he was trying. She knew Harry's save the world complex of old; he needed to feel that he could fix all of her problems and she was just exhausted enough to give no protest, she sagged.

"Ok Harry, tomorrow" she confirmed.

* * *

After Harry had gone Hermione set about the task of waking herself up, walking up to the bathroom she decided against a shower, opting to have a bath before bed in the hopes that it would relax her into slumber. She moved to stand in front of the mirror only to almost drop her toothbrush when she caught sight of her reflection. For once it appeared that Harry had not given over to hyperbole, she did look like hell.

Her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, in fact, all of the skin around her eyes had a faintly pink hue as well as being incredibly puffy. Dark patches surrounded the bottom of her eyes, the markings looking almost purple against her too pale skin. Her lips looked enlarged and deeper in colour against the drawn skin of her cheeks; her hair was matted beyond all reason.

She sighed, there was nothing she could do to fix it, not until she got more sleep. She had always been largely against glamour charms but conceded that maybe it was a good idea to apply a few tomorrow, Harry, attentive as he was, would not dwell on an issue if he assumed it resolved, it wouldn't do anyone any good to worry about her for no reason.

* * *

The hours of the day dragged until Hermione conceded around nine in the evening that she needed to get back into bed, _maybe an early night would turn things around_. The sun had yet to completely sink from the sky when she pulled on a fresh nightdress and folded herself amongst the sheets. As was a habit she picked her book off the nightstand but only managed a few pages before her eyes were drooping, yawning widely she marked her page, settled under the covers and turned off the bedside lamp.

* * *

Hermione stirred in bed, her eyes blinking into wakefulness, there was no thuding this time. It still appeared to be the dead of night; she shivered as she processed the chill in the room and shuffled to tug at the cover to pull it over herself tighter but as she moved she saw the curtains were open.

The soft glow of the moon illuminated the end of her bed, shadows from the trees outside made a checkered light pattern throughout the room making the small space awash with creeping greys. Something felt off, as she came to her senses she could almost have sworn she could detect another presence.

"Who's there?" she called croakily, her voice not yet fully responsive.

She heard a low chuckle, and she jumped as her heart began to race, she hadn't expected a response. It was just one of those things you did, wasn't it? Shouted out into the darkness, the darkness wasn't supposed to respond.

She risked a glance in the corner, where she thought the noise had come from, and as her eyes adjusted, she could register the outline of a dark cloak. Her eyes travelled warily up, higher and higher, revealing a tall, broad form and piercing blue eyes. There was a man in her room, a man with jet black hair that fell about his shoulders, a man leaning against her chest of draws with languid ease.

As recognition dawned on her she gasped, Yaxley, _Reuben Yaxley_ , one of the many Death Eaters she had fought against in the Final Battle, but he had been put into Azkaban, _how was he here?_ Unconsciously she gathered the cover and pulled it over herself more, her brain seeking a barrier that her mind knew would be ineffective.

"Now Hermione, after all of our time together you would think you would be used to seeing me by now," he said smugly crossing his arms over his chest and staring at her heatedly.

Hermione's brain scrambled, he was mad, totally mad. She had only seen him three times in her life and was sure they had never said as much as two words to each other, unless you counted him yelling at her, Harry and Ron when they attempted to flee the Ministry, which she didn't.

"I don't understand," she said weakly, her voice no more sure despite being more awake than she had been for months.

He ignored her. Instead, he took large, yet creeping steps towards the foot of the bed and she felt ice slip down her spine as his face was made clearer, illuminated by the moon's glare, he looked bigger, more real.

The fingers of one of his hands reached to grip the end of the bed post, almost caressing the cool metal until he followed it down to the mattress and then gripped the corner of the cover.

Hermione couldn't move, couldn't speak, as he lifted the corner and reached forward to grip her ankle. As soon as his heated flesh touched hers her mind was assaulted with a tidal wave of images; slick skin, screaming bliss, writhing passion and gentle caresses.

All of it was carnal…

All of it… _them_.

She remembered things when his hands touch hers, sensual things, he moved his hand slowly up her calf, and she gasped as more images filtered through her mind, she wanted to shut her eyes against the force of them but was terrified of taking her eyes off him for a moment.

Yaxley smirked at her, raising his eyebrows "if it wasn't for what we do after, _that bit_ , where you remember every time might be my favourite part."

He stepped back from the cover and she moaned at the loss of his touch before her hand snapped to her mouth, stunned by her automatic response.

He smiled wickedly "or maybe that part."

He didn't break eye contact with her as he reached into his deep clock pocket pulling out a length of black ribbon, it was thick and matt black, made from a material that appeared to be slight corded. Yaxley held it out as if presenting it to her before trailing his fingers back to her ankle. Moving with unbelievable slowness, he looped the cord around the bottom of the bed post and then around her ankle twice before tying it off in a perfect bow

Hermione didn't move as he continued his ministrations, the fear from before when she had first seen him, was still there, but it had morphed. The memories of triggered by his touch had come with a realisation he had been here before, many, many times, had been with her many, many times.

 _It explained why she had been so tired… But why? None of it made any…_

"Shhh," he said calmly, interrupting her spiralling thoughts as he sat on the side of the bed.

He raised her hand, the closest one to him and laid a soft kiss on each of her slim fingers before looping the same ribbon around her wrist and securing it behind her. She didn't know why she was allowing him to continue except there was a familiarity to his presence, his movements, his voice, she couldn't explain it, but she didn't want him to stop.

"You know all the answers" he soothed "but not now, we don't have long" he surmised looking out at the window.

Hermione found herself blindly agreeing, she didn't know what they had spoken about before, everything was so muddled, and as she felt his warm breath on her skin, she couldn't think.

"I am here because you want me to be Hermione" his rich voice soothed, calming the beats of her heart while the movements of his hands sped it up again.

Her name fell from his lips like a rough caress; he was on the other side of her body now, his breath against her throat. She experimentally pulled against the ribbon and once again he answered her unspoken question.

"You can get out, you always can. But you don't want to."

There seemed to be more to what he was saying, but she couldn't process another thought as he moved down the bed, shrugging off his cloak and looking down at her. His eyes travelled from assessing to satisfied, and he climbed forward, settling on his knees before her splayed legs. Only as he began lifting her nightdress _torturously slowly_ did Hermione register how she had been laid out, her mind didn't feel self-conscious for long, soon all she could focus on was the chill climbing her legs as he exposed more flesh to the rooms moonlight balm.

"Are you really here?" she asked, staring at the top of his head, his gaze was rigidly fixed on the newly revealed parts of her body.

"No, you know that's not logical little duck" he replied with a laugh in his voice.

"I can feel you" she protested, and he leant forward to kiss the inside of her thigh, smiling against her skin.

"I know you can; that's the idea," he said smugly.

When the soft, white cotton had been pulled up to expose her practical cream knickers Yaxley climbed forward again, this time moving to straddle her, though he held his considerable weight off her body. He lifted his shirt and waved a hand over her torso muttering a spell; she started as the nightdress vanished leaving her completely exposed to his gaze, his hungry gaze.

Yaxley lowered himself against her, laying a brief kiss against her lips before trailing down the column of her throat as his hands danced circles around her sides and over her hipbones.

"Am I dreaming you?" she moaned out breathy.

"Do you want to be dreaming me Hermione?" he muttered against the flesh of her breast, his tongue darting out to wet her nipple, exposing it to the biting cold of the room.

"Y… yes" she stuttered.

" _Good girl._ "

He transferred his attention to the other breast, and she whimpered as the cool metal of his belt buckle slithered across her core. With another wave of his hand, she could feel skin on skin contact and looked down to see his trousers were gone. The only thing separating them from each other were two thin pieces of fabric, which did nothing to obstruct the sensation when he rolled his hips to grind against her.

He leant up to pepper kisses over her jaw, sweeping up to draw an earlobe between his teeth before swallowing her moans with his mouth. He ran an expert hand back over her sensitive flesh down her stomach and danced on the edge of her knickers.

His mouth broke away from her face, and he looked down at her raising an eyebrow in silent question as his fingers toyed with the hem.

"Please please please please" she begged, desperate for more.

He smirked "please what?" he questioned, pulling back slightly when she tried to drag his mouth back to hers.

"I don't… I" she responded nearly frantic with need.

"You know what _Hermione_ " the deliberate emphasis on her name triggered her memory.

"Please, Reuben," she said as politely as he could, her mind full of relief.

" _Good girl_ " he replied, roughly kissing the tip of her nose as he slid his hands under the fabric.

Hermione groaned in immediate relief as his skilled fingers connected with her heated core; he kept kissing her, a litany of open-mouthed caresses leaving blazing trails all over her skin. But he was torturing her, every time she got close to release he would back off only to start again. Before long her skin was covered in a clammy sweat, and she was sure she would go mad if he did not increase the pressure.

As she swore, loudly he laughed, the throaty sound giving her the first indication of how he was holding back his need. He sat up a little, pulling his fingers away from her and kissing her forehead. She groaned at the loss of contact and struggled against the ribbons.

"No little duck," he chastised softly, and she looked up into his dark eyes "I need to feel you,"

Another subtle wave of his palm and the remaining fabric barriers keeping them apart were gone, Reuben wasted no time before pushing up onto his elbows and entering her.

"Fuuuccckkk" he breathed out against her neck.

He began to move, full consistent thrusts pounding her relentlessly into the mattress, but despite the harshness of his movements he never broke eye contact, his eyes were as soft as they had been since he had appeared in her room. When she tightened around him, he closed his eyes just for a moment, before reopening them and kissing her so hard she was sure she would bruise. His pace sped, and she felt herself pulling off the bed.

"I...I.." she mumbled incoherently.

"Do you want to come Hermione?" he commanded, his voice pushing her towards the edge just as much as the firm lines of his body.

"Yes… _please, Reuben_... I want… I want to come" she panted out.

"Let go" he granted her swiftly, and Hermione screamed her release into the slick skin of his shoulder, he followed before laying on top of her laying kisses all over her face.

" _Perfect girl._ "

* * *

When their breathing had returned to normal, he stood from the bed, gently removing her limbs from the black ribbon and running his warm hands over her ankles and wrists, laying gentle kisses where she had been bound. Stepping back he pulled his trousers on and grabbed his wand before settling himself over her, trailing a hand over her flesh, his touch wasn't sexual, not anymore, and he leant forward healing the worst of some of her bruising.

When he was done, he pulled the nightdress back over her head and looked to the window as the light was beginning to creep in reflected the dawning day.

"Are you leaving?" she asked, hating herself a little for letting the words fall from her lips.

He turned back to face her, his face impassive but his eyes looking intensely at her as if willing her to understand.

"I have too, but I will be back tomorrow."

* * *

As the sunlight broke through the open window in her bedroom, Hermione's eyes fluttered open. Her body groaned as she attempted to move. _She felt so tired_. Reluctantly she got up from her bed and straightened the covers wondering if a shower would be enough to put her back together before she was due to be at Grimmauld Place.

When she reached the doorway, she stretched up, sighing as she felt sensitivity in her hips and ribs. Maybe it was time to go back to the healers? They might not have been able to tell what was going wrong with her but they could at least give her some pain relief potion and maybe some dreamless sleep.

As she stepped to leave the room she remembered her slippers and went to double back only to catch sight of a something black at the end of her bed. It was a ribbon, thick and matt black, as she ran her fingers over its surface she could feel its corded texture.

 _How did that get there?_

* * *

 _And I feel like I'm being eaten_

 _By a thousand million shivering furry holes_

 _And I know that in the morning_

 _I will wake up in the shivering cold_

 _And the spiderman is always hungry..._


	3. TRACK 3: Monster

**TRACK 3: Monster**

[Hermione Granger x Fenrir Greyback]

 _I shoot the lights out  
_ _Hide 'til it's bright out  
_ _Whoa, just another lonely night  
_ _Are you willing to sacrifice your life?_

Monster _/_ Kanye ft. Jay-Z, Rick Ross & Nicki Minaj [2010]

* * *

 _Fan casts: Fenrir Greyback - Michael Fassbender_

* * *

For the first couple of seconds, no one moved, instead silence fell around them, heavy and oppressive. All Hermione could hear was the breathing of the others, she couldn't force her legs to move, the trio all eyed each other helplessly, Harry looked green, his hand clasped over his mouth as if he could take back what he had done, but it was too late for that.

The first pop of apparition was enough to break them from their shared state of intense shock and finally they ran, faster than they ever had before. The wind rushed in Hermione's ears as she darted between the tall, slim trees, the forest had become still all around them; she didn't see a bird in the sky or an animal on the grass-covered ground. They knew, like she did, that a predator was coming, maybe more than one.

Long minutes later and her legs were beginning to give way, too much time spent in the tent with not enough food had left her energy reserves low, too low for this. Panic wasn't helping she needed to plan; should she keep pushing her body forward for the slim hope of escape? Or give up and keep something in 'in the tank' to give herself a chance to fight her way out of whatever danger they were getting into this time?

A sudden pop in front of her left her little choice; she only had time to register a dark, imposing figure before she collided with it, her body rebounding off the shape that felt more like a wall than a person, knocking straight to the floor. The initial impact would have been enough to incapacitate her, as it was, she was swiftly followed on the ground by Harry and Ron who had somehow managed to converge on top of her at the same time.

She winced as Ron attempted to move off her, in the process shoving an elbow into her protruding hip bone, a soft moan fell from her lips as Harry shunted her from the other side and a low growl rolled over the clearing. The trio froze their tangled limbs, and she was sure her heart stopped, she forced herself to her feet and found herself standing well within the large shadow of Fenrir Greyback.

His eyes were so intense Hermione was sure she could feel his gaze heating her skin, as she took a step back he took one forward, before closing his eyes as he took a deep breath in, his chest inflating with the deep lung full of air. His mouth opened exposing his jagged teeth, and Ron jerked forward, linking her hand and dragging her part way behind him. As Ron's skin met hers, Greyback growled again, the sound low with a heavy vibration that seemed to resonate in her chest. She didn't have to be a wolf to detect the warning; his face was contorted as he fixed his savage expression to where her friend's fingers lingered.

Greyback stepped forward again; his body was so close now that she could smell the leather of his jacket and hear the rasp in his breathing. There was no point fleeing, she knew that his large form was at least a head taller than her, maybe more, he would catch them in no time.

Her heart started to beat faster, and she knew he had registered to it, his dark hooded eyes dropping to her chest with a raised brow. The wordless standoff was interrupted by shouts from what must have been the rest of the snatcher group. Before Hermione could think of what do Fenrir had drawn his wand and cast a bubble around them; the membrane like orb was thick, iridescent and opaque, they could still see the woods outside its glistening walls, but the image was blurred, and the sound muffled.

"What the hell?" Ron shouted as he darted to the side of the bubble pushing a hand into its spongy wall.

Greyback looked back at them, still holding his wand aloft. "It would appear you have a choice to make," he began roughly.

"We... We do?" Harry asked cautiously, and Greyback grinned, a mean quirk of the side of his mouth. Hermione knew enough to be wary of that expression.

"You make a bargain, _with me,_ " he said pointedly pushing a large hand against his chest, "and you get to leave. You don't, and I hand you over to the rest of my… _associates,_ " the word falling from his lips with a good amount of disdain.

"We would never make a bargain with you… you're a _monster,_ " Ron protested pushing Hermione till she was more squarely behind him.

Greyback's eyes fell on her again tilting his head to the side to see her face where she was obscured from his vision by Ron's furious countenance; she felt like he was almost daring her to agree, taunting her to give her backing to Ron's assessment. Hermione poked at Harry's shoulder, allowing Ron to lead this conversation was never going to end well.

"Oh, really," the wolf responded, he looked pleased, "well, then I…"

Whatever Greyback would do was cut off as the muffled sound of shouts permeated the magically conjured bubble. One of the snatchers had found them. Hermione didn't recognise the figure as he walked vaguely around the space searching for them, his wand drawn, it was a bizarre sensation to watch the wizard look right through where they were standing. She had never really considered before that Fenrir would be good with magic, she had so rarely seen him with a wand, the spell he had cast had some serious cloaking power behind it, it was not comforting in any way to realise she had underestimated him.

Calm enough to be able to make such assessments Hermione thought her fear had made her detached from what was going on until she spotted the glint of the knife that the snatcher was holding in his hand. The blade was short and thick, tipped in something that made the edges look darker than the main body. She felt Harry stiffen next to her and knew he had seen it too. However fatal wands were, and they were, of course, deadly weapons, somehow the site of a blade was still more impactful, whether it was as she had grown up in the muggle world and learnt that fear at a young age or maybe it was the up and personal nature of a small blade. You could end someone with a wand at a distance, like with a gun, to stab someone you had to be prepared to see the whites of their eyes, to be drenched in their blood.

Greyback saw the direction of their gazes and smirked as the snatcher eventually turned and walked off into the distance. "So what's it to be?"

Hermione looked amongst them, running scenarios through her head, before taking half a step from behind Ron, "What do you want?" she asked, trying to keep the wobble out of her voice.

"Hermione no," Harry whispered next to her, and she did her best to ignore him.

"I'm so glad you asked little one," his words were smooth, and when he grinned, she thought she could see every deadly tooth in his mouth.

"I will spare their lives, _worthless as they are_ if you give me yours," he answered plainly, finishing his proposition with a decidedly unsubtle perusal of her body and Harry and Ron's shouts of protest were immediate.

"... absolutely not…"

"... total nutcase..."

"... Merlin knows what he'll do to you..."

"... he's a monster…"

The word kicked her mind into gear; his eyes had not left hers since he had spoken, and she could see the challenge in them, and the anger. She knew what she was letting herself in for, but she had also seen that knife, knew the fate that could await them if they remained in the forest.

"Okay," she whispered, and the boys yelled protestations abruptly stopped.

"Hermione what are you…" Harry began his eyebrows knotted, as he looked at her in disbelief.

She turned to him, laying her hands on his face to force him to stop glaring at Greyback long enough to listen to her, _really listen_. "Harry I have to do this, you _need_ to get out of here," she turned her face to whisper in his ear, "the next one on the list."

He looked at her, wide green eyes meeting brown and stared at her for a long while, "You can't," he said in a hoarse voice, but she could already hear the realisation in his tone.

"I have too," she reassured him looping her arms around him, "there isn't another way."

His nod, when it finally came was heavy, just one jerk of his head against her shoulder and when he pulled away, his eyes were fixed on the ground.

"No," Ron called, looking between them both with an expression of betrayal "no no no."

"Harry?" she said pleadingly, and the-boy-who-would-continue-to-live stepped forward, grabbing Ron's arm, before taking one last look at her then apparating away.

* * *

The moment the pop of apparition had dissipated Hermione made to start reasoning with Fenrir, but from his demeanour, it was already too late, he dropped the enchantment encasing them in their sphere and rushed forward immediately. He gripped her roughly, one of his large hands on each of her arms as he lifted her clean off the ground and backed her against a nearby tree.

She gasped as he lifted the bottom of her tatty jumper and his rough, broad hands gripped at the scant flesh of her waist. He moved as if desperate, tugging the cotton out of his way until both hands pressed fully against of her stomach. Panting heavily, he ran one of his hands to the top of her jumper, savagely ripping the collar to expose her shoulder. New flesh revealed Fenrir laid a trail of wet kisses and soft bites indiscriminately, scratching her soft skin with the stubble at his jaw, until his mouth connected to the base of her neck, his warm tongue circling then laving the small scar her found there.

"Too slim," he growled into her neck, "supposed to contact me…"

He tugged at the belt and fastenings of her worn jeans until they were open, pulling them just far enough down her legs before he gripped her thighs to hoist her up against him.

"What is wrong with you?" he barked, "what if I hadn't part of the group? You would have been killed," he demanded.

Hermione saw the fire in his eyes but also the worry, _when was the last time he had slept?_ Settling herself back against the bark she raised her arms and wrapped them around his neck, gently pulling on the ends of his long hair as she attempted enveloping him in her, letting him calm by absorbing her scent.

"You stink of Potter and Weasley," he growled petulantly, though, despite his violent protest, he didn't move his nose from her hair.

Not moving from her embrace Fenrir reached down to undo his jeans that were riding low on his hips before taking his warm hands off her flesh to rip the entire front of her jumper open.

"Fenrir," she chastised shrilly, tugging at both sides of her now ruined top, "there was a zip," she remonstrated.

"Don't care," he replied hotly, dropping his lips to kiss down the column of her throat.

Hermione opened her eyes to cool herself from the sensation, and it was as if a bucket of cool water fell over her, reminding her of their surroundings.

"We need to get out of here," she said, her eyes darting around for potential dangers.

"Everyone's gone," he said fiercely.

"Fenrir," she pushed.

He halted his heated ministrations to look at her "do you think I would let anyone see you…. or hear you?" he asked intently, his eyes burrowing into hers.

"No," she conceded.

He grunted in response and pushed forward to rest his head on her forehead, "Look at me," he commanded.

As she did what he asked their eyes connected and with a heavy rock forward, he tugged her knickers to the side and entered her swiftly. She whimpered from the rough intrusion, and she saw his jaw twitch, and he grunted sheathing himself completely before stalling abruptly. He paused his, his whole body static as his eyes bore into hers. His expression was assessing and expectant, and she knew what he was waiting for, what he needed from her.

Hermione leant forward the small amount her torso could, given she was pinned so forcefully by his arms and laid a gentle kiss on his full bottom lip.

"Thank you-" she swallowed, "mate," the word still felt experimental on her tongue, but the effect on him was immediately evident.

He inhaled fiercely closing his eyes and shaking his head a little before smashing his lips against hers with bruising force, his body coming to life as he jerked roughly within her. His hands never stopped moving; he was seemingly trying to rub himself all over her. Hermione didn't think anything of it, and she was used to his ways by now.

 _The night the Death Eaters broke into Hogwarts was chaos, it was also the night she had met Fenrir Greyback for the first time. Determined to help and do what they could to protect the school, herself and the same group of students who had fought together just the year before led the way into the corridors hoping to be able to hold the attackers back until The Order came through with reinforcements._

 _She had somehow gotten separated from the rest of her friends and was being pursued down the corridor by the hulking form of Thorfinn Rowle when she heard a commotion at the end of the hall; Greyback was there. Hermione had never seen him bef_ _ore, and the fabled werewolf was more imposing in the flesh than she could have believed possible. He was tall, not as tall as Thorfinn but not far off and his body was strong and intimidating. His eyes were intense, and his dark matted hair fell to his shoulders._

 _He sent the blonde packing; they fought for a little while but ultimately Thorfinn left scowling. When it was just them in the corridor she thought with a degree of certainty that she was about to die, he was in front of her in a flash, but he looked at her in a way she didn't understand. As a large crash sounded around them, and he scooped her up unexpectedly and carried her into an abandoned classroom. As he laid a set of complicated looking wards at the door she had slunk off to hide under one of the desks, cowering to make herself as small as possible._

 _It hadn't taken him long to find he; she hadn't expected her hiding place to be infallible, she was just trying to delay the inevitable. Without warning he was under the table, right next to her, his too big form taking up all of the space. Fenrir had tugged at the fingers that covered her face and snarled at the blood on her skin. Hermione hadn't breathed the entire time he held one of her small hands in his large ones, perplexed as slowly healed all of her cuts and bruises, with gentle touches that he seemed as unsure of as she was._

 _In the chaos, he had explained, demonstrated their bond. She hadn't understood, had cried and fought against him, but she had felt it. Like an invisible hook that had been buried deep within her had found it anchored deep inside of him._

"You're mine," he groaned against the skin of her collarbone and she nodded, she was. At her confirmation, he swore under his breath and bit down softly into her flesh as he finished inside her.

They remained linked for a moment before he pulled out and started putting her to rights, mending her clothes with a wry, satisfied smile. When she was fully dressed he reversed their positions, languidly leaning against the tree stump before pulling her against him, burying his face in her neck and laying gentle kisses against the mark he had left there months before.

"Time to get you home," he demanded, "the women are going to have a fit when they see the state if you."

"It's nothing a decent night sleep and a meal won't fix," she responded airily, not wanting him to get into one of his moods.

"More like a week's worth of meals," he grumbled, "no more running now."

"Was it really necessary, the pretence?" she questioned.

"There was no pretence, you pledged yourself to me," he answered smugly.

She giggled, it felt exquisite to laugh, "Hadn't I already done that?" she teased.

"No," he replied shaking his head, his expression now serious, "You submitted but then you left… and I let you."

"I need to help them," she finished weakly.

"I know," he growled, but there was no heat to it now, "but you will come with me," he had meant it as an order but there was a question in his tone that made her heart constrict.

She looked up into his amber eyes, "I've made my choice."

* * *

 _I-I crossed the line-line  
_ _and I'll-I'll let God decide-cide  
_ _I-I wouldn't last these shows  
_ _so I-I am headed home_


	4. TRACK 4: Every Breath You Take

**TRACK 4: Every Breath You Take**

[Hermione Granger x Antonin Dolohov]

 _Every breath you take  
_ _Every move you make  
_ _Every bond you break  
_ _Every step you take  
_ _I'll be watching you_

Every Breath You Take / The Police [1983]

* * *

 _Fan casts: Antonin Dolohov - Michiel Huisman_

* * *

Hermione turned to the cashier, handing over the muggle coins she had grabbed, from her _second_ purse, before sliding down the counter to bag up the rest of her shopping. She moved quickly, making way for the lady behind, who was balancing a too full basket while trying to remove the sweets her child had picked up from the offer bin from his determined chubby grasp.

As she shook out the paper bag, she felt _it_ again, this time across her cheek. A tingling, prickling sensation that crept over her skin like an invisible finger. Quick as a flash she spun on her heel, darting her head to search the environment, but there was no one there. _There never was_.

Hermione turned back to the counter, her movements slower this time. She busied her trembling fingers with her shopping and tried to keep her breathing even, too many times when she'd had similar experiences she had attracted the attention of those around her; she didn't want to be forced to attempt an explanation, Hermione knew all too well how crazy she sounded. She had seen the worried look in her friend's eyes all too often, the pained expressions aimed her way at her jumpy behaviour, or grave concern raised when she would stop to scan the room wherever she went.

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione grabbed the now full paper bags and with a wave to the man behind the counter headed for the door.

* * *

The almost deserted street was still warm, despite the hour, and Hermione made the spur of the moment decision to walk back home, or well, back to the farmhouse. Apparating was always a bit risky in the tiny muggle village and as the evening was so pleasant Hermione found she couldn't be bothered to go meandering down the small network of alleys that would provide the only safe coverage to use magic.

The lack of magic in the last few weeks had been something of a relief, a homecoming of sorts. As her time at Hogwarts continued she had spent less and less time at home, with her family, in the muggle world. The impending war had quickly become her priority, keeping Harry safe the only thing she focused on. Now with her parents permanently staying in Australia, without any clue who she was, it felt like honouring them to reimmerse herself, at least for a time.

She smiled and waved to the locals as she passed them by; Mr Stonebridge who ran the bank, Charlotte who worked as a waitress in the cafe, the list went on. Three weeks had been plenty of time to get to know everyone in town, that Hermione enjoyed the familiarity had been a surprise to her at first. When she had drawn up a list of potential places to escape to 'Little Hampton' had been at the very bottom of her pile, Hermione had assumed that the _curious_ locals would get on her nerves, as it turned out they weren't nosy at all, well, _interested_ she would call it. In spite of herself she found it comforting, staying in such a big house on her own had left her longing for some company from time to time, company she quickly found as soon as she descended the hill into the cafe or one of the restaurants on the main strip.

The people were warm and courteous, and the depth of association seemed to be totally on her terms, just how she like it. Apart from a few stop bys and introductions in her first few days, no one came to the house; Hermione was left to get on with her work. Though she had added a few, _light_ , muggle repelling charms, just in case. Though most of what she was undertaking was research based, she did have a few experiments to run, nothing dangerous but not something that she would easily explain to an unexpected guest either.

Her pace was quick due to the weight of the shopping in her arms and before long Hermione found herself at the little white wooden fence that lined the outside of the property. Ginny had laughed her arse off when she saw the house Hermione had picked and all of its 'homely features', compared to the sleek lines and metal finishes of her flat in Hogsmeade this place was so different, _but that had been the point hadn't it?_

After the war the trio, plus Ginny, had all moved into Grimmauld Place, Hermione had stayed less than two months. She loved all of her friends very much and in a way that was the problem, so much of her life had been devoted to Harry's needs that she felt it was essential to get some separation from him, enough for her to _feel out_ her own life.

She had accepted a position within the Department of Mysteries and had thrown herself into the role with gusto, quickly finding her rhythm and relishing every moment of _finally_ working amongst a group of peers that were as passionate about the quest to 'know more' as she was. As part of her contract employees could take off up to two months a year to pursue their own research projects, provided that the scope was signed off by the Department Head and would be seen as 'beneficial to the Magical Population'.

Hermione had not anticipated putting in request quite so soon, but, as it turned out, her manager had been impressed with both the speed and quality of her work and had strongly suggested she submit an application. It had not been difficult to come up with a topic, narrowing her options down was a much more challenging task.

Her approved request had come back almost immediately and Hermione, as ever desperate to impress, had taken it upon herself to rent a place far away from the distractions of town, to fully commit herself to the report. One more week and she could return to her office safe in the knowledge that she had done her best. Most of the fact finding was completed, now she just needed to pull all of the materials together.

As she jostled the bags cradled in her arms she felt subtle press against her awareness, and she reflexively turned her head to the side, the light was failing now, but she could still see clearly the whole way around her. _There's nothing there Hermione._

She walked up the paved drive shaking her head, and opened the large blue door awkwardly, not wanting to put down the bags, as the wet ground, from the earlier inclement weather, would have soaked them the whole way through. Depositing the bags in the kitchen Hermione walked straight out of the rickety back door and into the overgrown garden, having remembered she'd left a book and some notes out there earlier. It wasn't unusual, since living on her own she had gotten used to depositing books and stacks of parchment all over the place so she could make a note whenever she felt like it. While back in her flat she attempted to keep the living room and kitchen in some order in case someone popped around, she had no need to here.

Standing out in the expansive garden Hermione felt a shiver crawl up her spine, languidly creeping before it settled on the back of her neck, she shut her eyes fighting back the tears. _Would it ever stop? Would she ever stop feeling like someone was watching her?_ The war had cast a long shadow on them all, for Hermione she had never gotten over the feeling of needing to look over her shoulder. She worried, a lot, would she would end up as mad as Moody had been towards the end? Screaming about 'constant vigilance' and living alone as he couldn't bare to trust someone else. Against her nature she considered that when she got back, it was time to give in and go and see a Healer, Harry had found the process beneficial, and if they had managed to get someone as stubborn as him to open up maybe they would have a chance with her?

Stomping her foot in frustration Hermione gathered up all of the previously abandoned parchment and went back into the kitchen to unload her shopping. She had brought more than she would normally do as she was determined not to give into any temptation to leave the house for the weekend, she wanted to get a headstart on the report to accommodate the number of times she would want to edit it before handing it over. She had already spoken to Mr Green from the General Store to let him know not to expect her, in a town this small she would only end up with knocks on the door if she were unexpectedly absent.

* * *

The night passed like so many others had before it. Hermione made herself a small dinner and worked for several hours before floo calling Harry to update him on the minor goings on in her life. He was due for early completion of his training programme in a few weeks, and Hermione could not have been happier for him. She disconnected the floo at the end of the call, and after hesitating for a few moments shut it off completely. She wouldn't need it for the next few days, and if she left it accessible, she would only end up cursing herself when Ginny or Luna called idly, a distraction she would lose hours to.

As she looked up over the mantel, she saw the time was getting on for eleven thirty and so made up her mind to have a shower and get into bed before the chill of the night set in. The heating in the farm house was old and temperamental, serviced by creaky pipes and a reluctant water tank if she weren't in bed until the early hours she would feel the whole house get cold.

Ascending the narrow staircase Hermione collected up the scraps of parchment she found along the way and was going to put them in the study but paused at the door, she flipped the last piece over in her hand again, while gripping the doorknob. _No_ , she thought resolutely, if she took them into the bedroom she could have one more read through before she fell asleep, those few moments before she committed herself to slumber could often produce her best thoughts. Resolved she removed her palm from the handle.

Shivering, she reached to close the hallway window and stepped into the bathroom. This room had ultimately sold her on the property, despite the design of the overall house not being in line with her personal aesthetic, whoever had lived here had put a lot of time into the bathroom selection. The piece de resistance was the large shower block in the corner; it could have fit five people at a time, not that Hermione had any idea of wanting that but, she did enjoy the four separate shower heads that were mounted on the walls, washing here was a new form of luxury.

Getting the water running Hermione quickly pulled off the practical clothing she had been wearing that day and ran out through the corridor into her room to put it in the laundry basket before moving back into the now slightly steamy bathroom. It didn't matter how long she had been living on her own; it still felt odd and slightly exhibitionist to walk around naked, and she couldn't help but give into the desire to run whenever she did so.

At the first touch of water, her thick curls slicked against her head, and Hermione stood out of the spray to reach for the shampoo and began the lathering process. She didn't wash her hair regularly, because of it taking so long to dry so she took her time coaxing the thick gel through her mop. The menial task occupying her hands allowed her mind to clear of the perpetual loop of facts and source documents it had been chewing over for the last few hours and just as she moved back under the spray she realised with a jolt that she hadn't opened the window in the hall.

* * *

Antonin Dolohov had watched his Lord fall at the final battle, had watched the people he had fought with and suffered alongside for more than two decades fall, and he remained. He wasn't sure how many others had survived that day, but he doubted it was many, he had stayed long enough to see the Aurors arrive, then he had gotten out of there, they would have had to kill him to get him inside Azkaban again.

He had been planning on going back to Russia; the last few months had been filled with activity, but he had still found time to create a relatively decent exit strategy, 'just in case' he had said to himself, well now he would have to take that path. However, best-laid plans were just that, something before he left changed his course. As he was hastening through the crumbling castle walls, trying to get far enough away that he could apparate, Antonin saw Hermione Granger, she didn't see him, or at least he assumed she didn't. She was sat in one of the smaller walled courtyards, all by herself, battered and bloodied, and looking over to the lake. While she was still there was nothing serene about her, a turmoil of the deepest kind seemed to permeate the very air around her, bleeding from her small frame into the war-torn grass. He couldn't stay long; his mind yelled at him to keep moving, and he almost started when he realised he was hesitating. Shaking himself, he had run the rest of the way to Hogsmeade, apparating far away before anyone detected his presence.

Over the next few months, he thought about her and her blank, yet intense expression on that day, often. He supposed obsessional behaviour was nothing new for him; he had been following his Lord as if he had been his own personal due North since his late teens, maybe _she_ just filled a hole that was too established to be overridden.

He was reading a book one afternoon when he felt his arm prickle, and his heart almost stopped, when Antonin looked down he watched completely spellbound as the entrenched black ink of his dark mark faded to a dull grey. _Now he had nothing._

He idly wondered later, as he climbed into bed if the mark that he had left on her, from the savage curse at the battle in the Department of Mysteries was still there.

He would have to find out.

* * *

When he first started following her Antonin did something he had never done at any point in his life, he went into a situation _completely without_ planning or preparation. He had decided momentarily to give in to his unceasing desires and as such had grabbed a robe and apparated before he could change his mind. She wasn't difficult to track, even though it was now months after the war the _Golden Trio_ were still hot property in the press, and yet instead of joining the party circuit or relegating herself to a life of after dinner speaking she joined the Ministry, working in the Department of Mysteries. Where he had marked her, _coincidence?_

He saw her that first day, leaving from the main exit of a building that represented everything he loathed. She was carrying a large bag full of parchment and was cloaked in soft lavender robes; she smiled at someone leaving at the same time, he enjoyed the expression, and even if it hadn't been meant for him he drew in the warmth that radiated from her tiny frame hungrily. Absently he found himself smiling in her direction in return.

That night he reviewed every scrap of information he could find on Hermione Granger, he realised he didn't know the girl at all, outside of a few utterances from others and his _limited_ interactions with her, that wouldn't do at all. _Who was she underneath the persona?_

He would have to find out.

* * *

It only took a few weeks for him to have locked down her entire schedule, she was a creature of routine, something they had in common. She liked to go to the same places for lunch, ordered the same sandwiches; she went to the bookstore each Thursday always setting herself a budget, which she would then amusingly give herself leave to ignore. She preferred vanilla scented bath products to anything else, though, when she was looking for a change, she would pick up something with pink grapefruit or pomegranate essence, and most obvious was that her _whole life_ was dedicated to either her job or her best friends.

It didn't take Antonin long to deduce that she put herself last, preferring to sit on the sidelines and contribute to other people's happiness, she took so little for herself, what about her wants and needs? Could he make her more selfish? Or would he be willing to have that selflessness continue as long as he benefitted?

He would have to find out.

* * *

As the months went on he grew bolder, it was no longer enough to see her from afar; he had to get closer. Whereas before he would have waited across the street as she meandered about town, now he followed her into cafes, disguised of course, at least most of the time. He would sit a few tables from her and watch her eat, distracted as she always was, either by a book or a piece of parchment she would be scribbling on.

That's when she started to sense him; he hadn't been close enough before, but now she would occasionally spin around, or her hand would suddenly move to grip the back of her neck. The discovery was pleasing; he was glad that her war experience had given her reflexes. That she was aware of her surroundings meant she could protect herself. More selfishly, he liked being able to affect her, to know he put the goose bumps on her creamy flesh. How close could he get undetected he wondered?

He would have to find out.

* * *

Despite his habit of following Hermione Granger increasing to at least three instances a week Antonin considered himself detached from his activity, she just interested him; _I can give this up anytime I like_ , he told himself.

That all changed the day he watched her leave her flat in a tight fitting pencil skirt and heels to go to work. She never wore anything like that, on most people, it would have seemed like a fairly run of the mill outfit, but it was so out of her comfort zone he convinced himself she would only have worn it to be provocative. He followed her to work and then paced back and forward on the pavement cursing that he could not go inside to find out what was going on.

Anger made him break into her flat. Her wards weren't difficult for someone like him, and his mind whispered that it was deliberate, _she could have kept him out if she wanted too._ He searched through her things, looking for a sign of a man, something he missed, but here was nothing. Eventually, he found a calendar and a stack of parchments relating to her job. On the day's date in big letters was lunch with Ginny Weasley, Antonin thought back over her conversations that he had heard with, or about the red head, then he settled on it, Ginny was always complaining about Hermione's clothes, she must have dressed up to make an effort for her friend. He shook his head as the anger leaked from him, but he still didn't leave. Now he was there he couldn't resist going through her things. When he came across her employment contract an idea came to him, _could he go that far?_

He would have to find out.

* * *

It hadn't taken much to convince her boss, just a little compulsion, illegal of course but that kind of definition did not apply to him anymore, he had lived outside the law for so long it would be pointless to start becoming concerned now. He tried to convince himself that he had done it for her on some level, that it would make her happy to be away from work _researching_ , the illusion wouldn't quite sit, however.

Now she was here, alone and firmly within his grasp… he slipped. He couldn't help himself, he had been watching her for so long, had gotten so close but as yet had no opportunity to interact with her, here was his opportunity. It was a reckless venture and one he shouldn't have even considered, but in a town of new faces what was one more?

Disguising his features and dressing as a muggle tourist he walked into the cafe she was sitting at, only this time he didn't skulk in the shadows. He had seen her chatting to various people in the time she had been there, animated conversations with strangers wasn't her usual style, though he supposed she must have been a little lonely at the house she had picked. He ordered some food and then made his way over to her table.

"I'm sorry is this seat taken?" he asked pointing opposite her, doing his best to mask his accent. He had considered spelling his voice, but Antonin found he didn't want to. If she couldn't see his real face, she could at least hear his words unhindered.

Her small dainty hand whipped to cover her mouth where she chewed quickly "no, please go ahead" she offered kindly before going back to her pasta.

"Are you from here?" he enquired as he settled himself into the seat.

She looked up at him, her warm brown eyes actually on his face, disguised or not, was electrifying. She shook her head, brown curls dancing in the back of her loose ponytail.

"No, just visiting for a while, you?"

"Just passing through" he replied looking around "it seems nice here, though, I wouldn't mind hanging around for a few days."

She courteously explained to him about all the attractions that were readily available from the small town, never once realising that the only one he was interested in was sitting in front of him. He threw a few kind compliments into his speech, gentle flirting at most and delighted in her flush, her innocence. She left too soon, excusing herself to get back to work at the farm house. It wasn't enough. _Would it ever be?_

He would have to find out.

* * *

Antonin watched from outside the small General Store as she brought her shopping, saw her whip around as she must have detected his presence. He batted away the urge to help her carry the heavy, awkward, brown paper bags. _Soon_ , he told himself, _just a little while longer_.

When she went inside the house, he walked around to the back of the yard. It hadn't taken her long to establish a routine in her new environment, she wrote outside in the mornings with a big mug of tea, then would remember those lost parchments at the end of the day and come and collect them. Once she made it outside he allowed himself a few moments to gaze at her before walking around to the side of the house and with a quick spell opened the upstairs hall window. Waiting for the click to indicate the back door had been closed he crept into her study to wait. There was plenty there to occupy him after all.

He could barely contain himself as the hours wore on, when the old pipes that lined the house groaned he stood, stretching himself out before opening the door and making his way down the upper-level corridor. Standing outside the bathroom he concentrated on the sound of the running water, hoping to ease his beating heart. As he placed his hand on the doorknob, he could feel a slight heat in the metal from where it must have been gathering warmth on the other side, and holding his wand aloft he took a deep breath and turned the handle. _Was he ready for this?_

He would have to find out.


	5. TRACK 5: Abracadabra

**TRACK 5:** **Abracadabra**

[Hermione Granger x Felix Mulciber (Mulciber)]

 _Every time you call my name  
_ _I heat up like a burnin' flame  
_ _Burnin' flame full of desire  
_ _Kiss me baby, let the fire get higher_

Abracadabra / Steve Miller Band [1982]

* * *

 _Fan casts: Felix Mulciber - Sebastian Stan_

* * *

Felix Mulciber dragged the slumped broken figure from the burning house; there wasn't any struggle left in the wizard he had been sent to interrogate, and there was no way he would have gotten out of the inferno under his own steam. Though it wasn't salvation on Felix's mind, no, as ever he was much more interested in spectacle.

He dropped the body with a careless thud once they had cleared the shadow of the building and stood back to watch the flames consume the house. The vivid orange and golden tendrils were licking forcefully against the old fashioned sash windows on the upper level. Felix laughed along with the creaking of timber as the roof succumbed to the flame.

He had always liked fire, loved its heat, its glow, and the certainty of its destructive power.

He supposed it was his birthright.

 _Fortunes flame_ his Mother had called him, the child they never thought they would have, through miscarriage after miscarriage they kept the faith and eventually, he, was the result. People would say they over indulged him for that, though the most astute among them might have pointed out that the scion of house Mulciber would only ever have gone one way.

He was destined to forge his own path, though instead of sweat and toil he chose carnage.

His parents were respected amongst the elite of their world, but that respect was born of fear, not a close association, they did everything for their own pleasure, and ignored all advice they disagreed, argued against anyone that stood in their way. People would mumble under their breath that they were little more than heathens but they didn't care, one would have burnt the world down for the other's amusement, if the mood had so struck.

Felix had an unconventional upbringing, left to run riot in many cases, and he wasn't one to disappoint. Riot he brought, then and now.

All that indulgence should have left him with a pretty warped sense of right and wrong, but it hadn't, that line, the one he had crossed so many years before, was no longer visible to him in the pitch dark that surrounded him. He was acutely aware of the _wrongs_ he had committed. _Was there a point in atoning when you knew you had only just begun?_

The beaten man on the floor groaned next to him, and Felix turned away from the warming glow with an animated sigh. He frowned at the wizard who had disturbed him he delivered a swift, deep kick to the man's ribcage, and he reached into his pocket for a familiar box, his lips twisting into a smirk. Sadly, before his fingers could reach his prize, his forearm convulsed and his mark burned torturously into his flesh. He swore loudly at the thought of the interrupted scene he would leave behind. There was nothing else for it, with one last look back at the devastation in front of him he allowed the pull of apparition to take him to his Master's side.

* * *

Crammed into the study at Malfoy Manor, Felix stood towards the back; he had no desire to be amongst his brothers any longer than was strictly necessary, nor did he wish to be close to the pageantry of them throwing themselves at their Lord's feet. He served his Master best in the field, not schmoozing in backrooms. He picked up the side of his cloak, pulling the collar across his face and breathing in deeply, the clinging smell of the acrid smoke calmed him as he waited for the meeting to close.

Only one thing hand caught his attention in all that had passed, Hermione Granger had been captured and was currently _residing_ , as his Lord had put it, in the dungeon downstairs. He fought back the roll of his eyes; Lucius may have _repeatedly_ referred to him as 'too unstable' to be trustworthy, and this from a man that had a custom built prison in the basement of his home. The Mulcibers would never have condoned such a thing; their cells were confined to the grounds.

Despite his irritation his interest had been peaked and he knew he would have to satisfy this new craving before moving on. The girl had been elusive for months. After the trio had broken free from capture, despite numerous sightings, they had so far been unable to apprehend her. He wanted to go down and see the girl. Inferior as she was, something about her methods spoke to him; shooting Potter in the face to obscure his identity and poly juicing herself as Bellatrix at the bank, he wondered how they had finally got her this time.

When the rest of the masked figures left he saw his chance, he doubted he would be the only one among them to desirous to visit the mudblood, several of them had missions foiled by her and Dolohov hadn't been the same since he had first heard she was alive following the Department of Mysteries. It was best he went now, by the end of the week she was unlikely to be very _responsive_.

Felix pondered over his approach as he started down the stairs, _staging_ was imperative to him, everything a timely, well-executed performance, set up in a certain way for maximum effect. He liked to reel people in, have them second guessing the level of danger they were in, sometimes blind them with kindness before letting the conjured illusion drop, revealing smirking detachment in the face of their inevitable death.

He found her quickly, the cells were relatively empty, they didn't tend to keep _guests_ long. She was sat towards the back of the dirty space, legs folded underneath her and hands resting palms down on her knee caps, she looked to be mumbling to herself, and he wondered if she were praying, he had seen the mudbloods and muggles do that sometimes, another sign of their inferiority. Her false God wouldn't save her from him.

Felix leant back on his heels for a moment surveying the environment at the first click of his worn boot against hard stone he noticed her flinch, despite her closed eyes and calm demeanour she had sensed his arrival. He allowed himself a small smile, and reached into his pocket for the box he was denied before, he opened it, pulling out a single rectangle of reinforced parchment and slid the card between his fingers before flicking his wrist and launching it at Hermione Granger. This set up was one of his favourites.

"Pick up the card" he commanded causally.

She opened her eyes meeting his gaze for a moment before he nodded pointedly towards the parchment that had landed in front of her feet.

"Pick up the card, and tell me _where_ you would like it attached to your body" he continued in the same unaffected tone as if he were asking her if she would like a drink.

Her small hands reached forward without a visible tremor and gripped the offered object; she turned it over in her palm showing the magically moving image of _The Tower_ ; the flames dancing around the rounded turret, the people plunging to their deaths, the backdrop of lightning.

"It's usually the last thing, almost a mercy by that point; people don't tend to be capable of choosing then so I" he placed a heavy hand on his chest "I like to ask up front."

He observed as she ran a finger over the image before flipping it back and forth between her fingers, examining it.

"Where will it have the most impact on your little friends to see it, do you think?" he pressed, his tone conversational.

Felix's first bout of accidental magic, when he was just two, saw him set fire to a pack of magical tarot cards it was an act that had inspired him to leave a memento with his victims, the darkened _Tower_ card skewered through their flesh, typically their forehead. Something about the dark, mystery of the image on the card combined with the raw brutality of his act resonated with him.

But not with Hermione seemingly, despite his deliberately provocative demeanour and words she stared blankly back at him.

He tilted his head, picking up another, identical, card from his pocket. He ran a single finger over the sharp edge, quick enough that the surface broke the skin, allowing a well of blood to form on the pad of his finger. Felix wiped the spilt crimson over the front of the card in his grasp, leaving a trail down the brickwork of the tower, obscuring the image slightly.

"Something like this," he said, holding it aloft for her view "but _dirtier_ obviously" he delivered with a laugh.

She rolled her eyes at him, and he started, rage coiling in him, _did she think those bars where there to protect her?_ As if they could, Merlin how he wanted to destroy her.

"The forehead is a favourite, but I've always enjoyed the tongue" he continued lowly, needy for her terror "It is attached while you're still breathing, of course, where would be the fun otherwise?"

She stared back at him as if he hadn't spoken.

His fists clenched "you are very unaffected considering the position you're in, I'm sure you believe this show of bravery will earn you respect" he incredulously spat as he eyed her slightly raised a brow. "You. Are. Wrong" he warned darkly.

Felix stepped forward; he debated throwing the bloody card at her, but he pocketed in instead narrowing his eyes and baring his teeth at the misguided girl caged, held captive in front of him. "You have no comprehension of who you are around now, your short-lived defiance will only make us try harder to _break you_.

Any one of us could kill you at any moment. Our Lord wouldn't care. You are of no importance to either side; you are little more than a _device_ my Master will use to keep his followers _happy_. You are at our mercy, and completely defenceless without your magic, good as you supposedly are at it" he sneered "No more tricks Miss Granger."

As he finished his speech he realised he was panting and was stood directly in front of the cell bars, so close his feet were placed between vertical drops of metal, as his laboured breathing became the only sound she stood. He eyed her curiously, _maybe she would scream, perhaps she would beg._

She did neither.

Not breaking eye contact with him, she held her left arm away from her body and used her other hand to roll up the sleeve of her tattered pink jumper. Her movements were slow, deliberately so, and once she had reached her elbow, she repeated the action on the other side, revealing arms comprised of pale, bruised, and skinny flesh.

His eyes narrowed on her as she held up the card he had given her in her bloodied fingers, extending her arm entirely and moving it back and forth through the air as if showing it off to an audience of many when there was only him stood in front of her. Then, with a slight flourish of her palm and a loud click of her fingers the card vanished.

The action was so unexpected he started, not in fear or surprise but with the almost incapacitating need to rush forward and shake her till she rattled.

"How did you…" he began stupidly, but he couldn't finish his thought.

 _It was impossible_. Magic couldn't be done within the cells, even if some idiot had left her with her wand it would have been totally redundant. _How had she done it?_ He stalked back and forth in front of the bars for a time sizing her up before he stopped.

"Where. Is. It?" Felix bit out his fingers curling around the cool metal, a poor substitute for her throat.

"Vanished," she said, speaking at last if he had to place her tone he would have said she sounded bored, but there was an air of smugness underlying her words that heated his very blood.

"How?" he pressed impatiently.

"Magic," she said lifting both her hands and waggling her fingers.

"That's not possible" he barked.

"In your world maybe," she said lazily with a shrug "but not in mine."

"Muggles do not have magic" he all but growled at her.

She regarded him blankly again, barely tilting her head to the side. Looking at him as if she believed he was struggling with comprehension of her words.

"Show me again.." he demanded gruffly and threw another card at her.

He was prepared for it this time, and yet so was she. He had anticipated she would turn her back, do something to make her movements harder to follow but she did the opposite, she stepped forward closer to the bars, slowed her hands. This time when she rolled her palm, he saw the parchment pop out of her grasp as if she had banished it.

He was breathing heavily through his nose now as he tried to control his temper or lust, he wasn't sure which anymore. "Show. Me. How."

She curled a finger, and he stepped closer till they were mere inches apart, separated only by the bars.

"Pass me another card" she cooed, her voice saccharine sweet and he longed to pull on her pretty hair, to make her yelp, to rid her of her assessing expression, to grasp at her jaw with his unforgiving hands till she lost the sugar from her tone.

He reached into his pocket for his custom deck, averting his eyes from her self-satisfied face, but before he could comply with her request, he felt the tip of a wand, his wand, at his throat and then all was blackness.

* * *

When he came to Felix was laying flat on his back in the cell Hermione had been locked in. As he pulled himself to his feet two cards fluttered to the ground, he blinked, trying to clear his vision, as he picked them up he caught sight of the images, both abandoned parchment rectangles no longer representing his beloved Tower, in its place were two versions of the Six of Wands.

 _Victory indeed_.

* * *

 _Abra-abra-cadabra_

 _I want to reach out and grab ya_

 _Abra-abra-cadabra_

 _Abracadabra_


	6. TRACK 6: I Put a Spell on You

**TRACK 6: I Put a Spell on You**

[Hermione Granger x Tom Riddle]

 _You know I love you  
_ _I love you  
_ _I love you  
_ _I love you anyhow  
_ _And I don't care if you don't want me  
_ _I'm yours right now_

 _I put a spell on you  
_ _Because you're mine_

I Put A Spell on You / Annie Lennox [2014]

* * *

 _Fan casts: Tom Riddle - Tom Hughes / Augustus Rookwood - Joseph Mawle_

* * *

Tom Riddle walked through the once magnificent grounds of Hogwarts castle, allowing himself an internal sigh as the damp grass connected with his bare feet. With a minute wave of his hand the grey, noseless visage faded leaving behind someone with the appearance of being far closer to human. He was pale, and the skin that pulled across his face was without a single blemish, the only marker of his actual age being a touch of grey at his temples. The illusion he had used in the run-up to the war had never changed his eyes; they remained emotionless black pools that held a red sheen in certain lights.

Death, decay and destruction were everywhere, but Tom felt nothing at all for the spent life on the ground. He walked passed the mangled bodies as if they were little more than cut flowers, though he was mentally compiling lists of the improvement works needed for the castle, it wasn't conscionable that they leave it in its present state.

His now booted feet trod through the uneven path left by debris and limbs searching out only one face. He hadn't anticipated having to look out here; that had never been the plan. But he had already walked through the Great Hall and the courtyards, he had expected to find her standing, face contorted to reveal she was livid, ready to attempt ending herself via his wand, but breathing.

As he circled the Black Lake, a strong gust of wind blew and his eyes were drawn across the blood stained grass as a wild mane of dark brown curls answered its call. Strands billowed up into the breeze, streaming off in every direction before, stripped of their animation, inert they would fall limply down to rest against her face. Tom was transfixed as he looked down to her wide caramel eyes, observing how they fixed toward the sky, even across the distance he knew they were no longer seeing. The air swelled again, and her curls danced with the same reckless abandon that she had given them, once upon a time. So strange that they should continue to live now that she did not.

Tom sauntered towards the cluster where she had fallen, once he had reached her side he dropped onto his knees untangling her form from those that had perished around her, a couple of Weasley's and a blonde girl he did not recognise, though he thought he knew who she was. It took him a long time to separate their entwined fingers, whether from the determined nature of the hold while they breathed or the early onset rigours of death he couldn't be sure.

When she was free of earthly constraints, he ghosted the very tips of his fingers over her cheeks, and he bit down the guttural groan that clawed up his throat in response to the coolness of her flesh. Somehow the chill that permeated the pads of his slim fingers made him understand the finality of his discovery.

She would have her cause, he thought impotently; she wouldn't listen to reason. He shouldn't have let her come; he had known that from the off, not that he had much influence over her towards the end, but he could have trapped her in a room somewhere and forced his point, Merlin knew he had done worse things to keep her.

His eyes left hers and he scanned down her body, cataloguing the cuts and bruises that littered her slight frame, she hadn't died quickly, there was no one wound devastating enough to have done it. All of the evidence pointed to a single conclusion, this, her lying here like a broken doll, this was no accident. No wretched mistake of being caught in the crossfire, she had been toyed with, knowing her stubborn resolve of old it could have been for hours.

Tom's fingers flexed around the elder wand in his firm grasp, and he felt its sentient magic responding to the fluxing in his core. If he hadn't been so fucking furious he might have been thankful for the deliberate nature of the act, at least he would have someone to take it out on now.

He carefully zipped her scorched jumper and transfigured her beloved muggle apparel into soft lilac robes that glided over her skin. He again drifted his fingers over her face, closing her eyes, for the last time, and delicately removed the smudges of soot on her skin; it looked too pale. Usually, with his hands on her face he would see the stark difference in hue, today they looked almost the same. His quiet assessment was interrupted by an unwelcome shuffling behind him.

"Who was it Rookwood?" he asked without emotion, not letting any of his simmering rage bleed into his tone. Augustus would have been the only one to follow him over here, and at this point probably the only one of his Death Eaters that could have appeared without it meaning their imminent death. He schooled his features before turning around.

But the now maskless Death Eater, one of his best, wasn't looking at his features, his eyes were trained at the body on the ground, regret and something else, something dark shone in his eyes, it almost made Tom smile to himself. How he had misjudged what his merry bunch of followers would make of her when he introduced them, blood purists the lot of them. He had expected no less than fireworks and well, he got them, not that she hadn't been more than capable of handling herself. With a select few she had worn down those barriers, with a few others she had inspired a level of devotion that he found, pleasing, after it had been established to be the intangible kind. Before she had got there, he hadn't considered the possible effect of introducing a female into the almost exclusively male ranks, especially a young, pretty, sane one. It would seem that many of the older married men amongst his marked were in unhappy unions.

Rookwood cleared his throat before tearing his gaze upwards "Bella my Lord" he answered definitively.

Tom had known, of course, no other explanation would have made sense, he should have put an end to that threat a year before. It was too late now.

 _What was one more regret?_

"See that Mrs Lestrange is placed in the cells, I will deal with her when I am back" he commanded.

"Yes my Lord" Rookwood confirmed before opening his mouth and shutting it again.

"What is it?" He asked sharply, in no mood for protracted conversation.

"Should I…. should I take her… take Hermione?" he mumbled not quite daring to reach his Master's eyes.

"No, I think not" Tom responded crisply, he should have prevented this entirely, but now it was done he would at least be certain that not a single hand bar his would touch her body.

Rookwood nodded once and with a final look to the floor scuttled off to complete his task.

Once his disciple had disappeared, heading back towards the castle, Tom reached down with both arms splayed to pick her up, cradling her petite form against his chest. Her errant hair tickled under his chin as it always did.

' _I can walk you know Tom'._

The words flashed into his mind, accompanied by the image of a little witch, almost vibrating with swirling magic, _with power_ , and near spitting with barely controlled rage. He almost smiled at the memory, almost...

 _Not this time my love._

* * *

Tom paced around the grand study in his new Manor. They had started work on the building when he had first returned as it had always been part of his plan to have and opulent home. Though he could have occupied any he so wished he had still gone ahead with the construction, immaterial as such things were to him now it had been something he had dreamed of often while sat on the edge of his aged cot, in his barren room, at the orphanage.

Not that it was only a case of uncharacteristic sentiment moving his hands in the matter, no, _she_ had _hated_ Malfoy Manor, right down to the very foundations it was built on and had no time for its primary occupants, he had never really cared for the peacocks.

He looked across the vast expanse of his desk to the smaller one placed in front of it; the Louis XVI flame mahogany table had taken pride of place. It was the first thing that had made her smile when she had come here. He had adjusted it for her use, there was a pad at the back, tucked away on a small shelf, when you placed a text there it would sort itself back into the well-stocked library, you could request additional volumes the same way. She would never see that, though. Every consideration had been made for her, and now she wasn't here to make use of it, _he was so angry with her still_. Rookwood had asked if he wanted the desk removed, he hadn't yet answered. He did so hate it when plans went awry.

Stepping from around the desk Tom moved to stand in front of the large window, his eyes gliding across the tastefully manicured grounds till he saw the rose bush; large, distinct, pink blooms grew peacefully out of the recently tilled earth. The bench he had requested would arrive tomorrow; maybe he would be able to ease his incapacitating irritation working out there from time to time.

There was no such marking for Bellatrix, Tom hadn't even bothered to torture her, her mind had been shattered a lifetime before, _what was the point in drilling a lesson into someone what was incapable of learning it?_ A quick Avada followed by a speedy Incendio had been all she was good for.

As he turned back around he threw his, still half full, tumbler against the bookcase, the jagged glass shards shattered to the floor and the deep amber liquid seeped into the carefully bound parchment and leather.

' _There's no need to take your poor mood out on the books Tom' the girl looked over her volume and gave him a challenging smirk which he returned with an intense gaze, amused by her boldness._

It would have to be different this time, _very different_.

* * *

As Tom Riddle stepped out into the stone corridor he looked around himself, searching for confirmation he had achieved what he desired. He spotted a cluster of Durmstrang students in their formal robes at the same time as music wafting from the Great Hall caught his ear.

He smiled to himself before conjuring a mirror and tilting his head as he regarded his seventeen-year-old self in the reflection, as he cast a quick Tempus he sensed the urgency of the moment and banished the mirror before moving to stand in the entryway of the hall, straightening his robes as he did so.

 _Three… Two… One…_

On schedule, Hermione came rushing out of the Ball, younger than she had been when he first met her, and so very much alive. Her hair was pulled back and teased beyond all recognition, and despite having seen pictures he was still slightly awed by her appearance, though he preferred her in his shirts and socks padding around the library, he could concede that she looked beautiful. As his gaze fell back on her face, he registered the puffiness in her cheeks and the sheen in her eyes… _right on time_.

Faultlessly taking his cue, he stepped forward to block her path. "Miss Granger, do excuse me for interrupting you, but I do not think we have been introduced" he began cordially, and she abruptly stopped in front of him, looking slightly at sea with his sudden appearance.

"I.. no" she murmured, brows furrowing.

Looking to leverage her already discombobulated mind from her fight with her friend he swept forward and boldly took her arm. "Allow me to escort you back in," he said smoothly without a hint of a request.

Moving quickly he could see her blinking in surprise, but he wouldn't give her time to think. This time he had a plan, one he would execute _perfectly_.

"A dance?" He congenially suggested as they moved back into the full room sparkling with icicles and magic, _yes this would do_.

"I… how did you?" she asked from his side, her eyes assessing him, he could almost hear the cogs in her wondrous mind spinning. He bit down the desire to grin; she was right in front of him, and he had managed to throw her off to the point where she had lost a good deal of her usual articulation.

"I promise Miss Granger, one dance and I will answer all of your questions."

She dumbly nodded, and he led her to the floor, firmly holding victory within his cool grasp.

* * *

Hermione followed the unknown boy onto the dance floor, too confused to do anything else. She had been trying to get away, to run _far away_ from the cruel words Ron had said, Ron who was supposed to be her friend, Ron who she knew _deep down_ she felt more for than mere friendship. His rejection had stung, and she hadn't been focused on anything other than getting back to the dorm room before traitorous tears began to fall. She certainly hadn't expected to have someone blocking her path; everyone was inside having too much fun to be lurking in corridors.

He knew her name, _how was that possible?_ Then she supposed dancing with one of the champions would have probably made her a hot topic of conversation in the hall that evening; she shuddered at the mean spirited things that would have been whispered, at least she hadn't heard them.

Hermione looked back up at the boy, the young man. He was certainly one of the upperclassmen though she thought she knew everyone from Hogwarts, maybe not to speak to, she saw them all at meals, and she would have remembered his face, this boy was striking; pale and angular, with dark wavy hair falling almost over his brow on one side. He seemed aloof, yet; something was lurking behind his eyes, something she couldn't quite place, an intensity that left her feeling nervous.

He wasn't wearing the uniform that was mandatory for the Durmstrang students; _maybe he was from Beauxbatons?_ Though he didn't have an accent, not that the fact precluded the possibility he went there, anyone from anywhere could attend one of the other magical schools.

As they made it onto the floor, Hermione suddenly felt self-conscious, not that she hadn't been something of a spectacle all evening but with Viktor she had forgotten about it, caught up in his exuberance and her elation. It had been her very own Cinderella moment, but the clock had struck twelve with her argument with Ron, and suddenly the iridescent cloud she had been floating on had burst.

More than one pair of eyes looked over at her and her new dance partner and unless she was mistaken she had seen Headmaster Dumbledore look slightly alarmed before his face became completely neutral.

The boy moved to take her hand and Hermione suddenly faltered, she had felt confident with Viktor, confident enough to disguise her faults or act to compensate. Under the steady gaze of _this boy_ , this unknown boy, she felt exposed and vulnerable, attempts to dissemble seemed impossible.

"I can't dance that well… now." she fumblingly offered, and the boy smirked.

"Allow me to help you with that Miss Granger."

Though his words offered assistance his face gave her pause, he reached forward to wave a hand over her arm, and she felt her body straighten without her command, every vertebra in her spine shifted into a new alignment and her arms lifted as if moved by invisible strings. Her fingers splayed into an unusual position, and she looked down at her hands as if they belonged to another. As she stood, transformed in shape, he slid in front of her creeping into the place left open by her forcibly posed form, his hand linked with her palm held aloft, as his other darted sinfully over her back, unhurried.

"What did you do?" she whispered anxiously, relieved for a moment when she realised she could still speak. She had no idea what spell he had cast, but the tingling numbness in her body was making dread pool in her stomach, the unnatural hold she was captive to ratcheting her sensual awareness tenfold.

He looked down to stare at her, ignoring her question, before pressing into her lower back with the hand he had placed there, pushing her forward and almost eliminating the gap between them. He moved to bow at her, just a perfunctory dip of his head as they were already in hold, and bile rose in her throat as she felt herself bend forward to meet him.

As a new song began he moved her into a twirl to start off, the manoeuvre was elaborate yet understated; she could tell he had skill as a dancer, more so than any others she had shared the floor with that evening. The skirts of her dress billowed around her, exposing her ankles, and she realised with a growing sense of alarm that she had no more control of her legs than her arms, she looked up at him wide-eyed.

"See isn't that easier" he crooned, and his voice smoothed over her lightly, a spoken caress, like the melodious sound of the piano in the musical piece being played by the band. He looked stoic in the face of her obvious distress and began leading her in more dynamic movements as the base of the song kicked in.

 _One two three shift_

 _One two three shift_

"What have you done to me?" she demanded harshly, wishing the music wasn't so loud so that her words would carry.

"Nothing you didn't ask me for" he replied serenely "you came to me with a problem Miss Granger, I merely took the initiative to solve it... as _I_ saw fit." His eyes sparked in challenge, daring her to refute his words as he swept her around the floor, weaving expertly in and out of the other couples.

 _One two three shift_

 _One two three shift_

"Who are you?" she said lowly, her anger rising at his high-handed evasiveness. _Anger was good_ , she told herself; it helped her rise above the throat constricting fear. He raised a brow at her, and she felt her temper fraying.

"You said you would answer my questions" she ground out glaring at him.

 _One two three shift_

 _One two three shift_

The music felt different now, darker, closer, further away, absorbing. The outside world, the space beyond their interlinked arms was blurring away again, as it had with Viktor, only this time it wasn't attributable to experiencing a sense of youthful joie de vivre for the first time. No, this was oppressive, like she was being dragged away from her world, like every step her bewitched body was making was leading her further away from safe waters.

"My name is Tom" he answered finally.

She had expected him to deflect further, but he almost seemed pleased to tell her his name, he searched her eyes, _as if looking for recognition?_ She had no idea why she would have heard of him. His hand gripped her tighter as he twirled her around one hand, before tugging her body back into his embrace, their torsos were closer now, and his eyes were burning into hers. She gasped from the quick movements highlighting her marionette-like response to his spell.

 _One two three shift_

 _One two three shift_

"You shouldn't use magic to _control_ a person" she spat at him hotly, memories of Professor Moody's lesson and the tortured spider echoed in her mind. _Who would do that?_ She had questioned at the time, _who indeed_.

"I'm not," he defended, the words spoken right next to her ear, his tone firm. He brushed a loose curl from off her face "I'm using it to make it _perfect._ "

She looked at his dark eyes with confusion.

"You're still you.." he elaborated tapping the side of her temple with a slim finger "I would never suppress your mind, I'm just controlling the setting so to speak," he said with a lazy grin, pleased with himself.

 _One two three shift_

 _One two three shift_

"Semantics," she said exasperated "I want to stop dancing now."

"Soon" he agreed "just a little while longer."

His agreement surprised her, again, she had assumed she would have to shout or plead with him and yet his response seemed genuine. The relief that should have filled her, from the knowledge that all of this would be over soon never came, something about him, _Tom_ , something about the way he held himself made her feel like she was balancing on the tips of her toes, she couldn't afford to relax.

 _One two three shift_

 _One two three shift_

"We never got to do this the last time," he said as he made a jerking motion with his hand and her head was forced by invisible fingers to rest against his shoulder, her face laying in the crook of his neck.

"What do you mean the last time?" she questioned, her heart racing at the implications of such a statement.

He spun her around again, quicker this time, though with her head now fixed against him see could pick out things in the room. She caught Ginny's blanched face and the fact that Harry and Ron were missing, as they came to a stop again she saw Headmaster Dumbledore was cutting across the floor towards them.

 _What was going on?_

 _One two three shift_

 _One two three shift_

She tried to push, to fight against the spell, doing everything from attempting to thrash her arms to forcing her feet to stomp but nothing worked.

"Oh, none of that Hermione" he chided, though his tone wasn't angry, he sounded merely amused.

"How do you know my name?" she asked, tears were beginning to prick at her eyes now. At first, she had thought this would be just a dance with a strange boy that eventually she would laugh over, but now, now she wasn't sure how this story would end.

He stopped suddenly, and the abrupt stillness made her feel off balance, though her body didn't react which made her feel even stranger. He moved the hand that had been lancing the flesh on her back and ghosted his slim fingers over her cheeks.

"Hermione Jean Granger you are my past, present, and future" he revealed, his eyes glittering darkly, and with a faint pop of apparition, they were gone.

* * *

 _Because you're mine_


	7. BONUS TRACK: Closer

**BONUS TRACK: Closer**

[Hermione Granger x Regulus Black]

 _Stranded in this spooky town  
_ _Stoplight is swaying and the phone lines are down  
_ _Floor is crackling cold  
_ _She took my heart, I think she took my soul_

Closer / Kings of Leon [2008]

* * *

 _Fan casts: Regulus Black - Eoin Macken_

* * *

Hermione shuddered as a gust of wind blew through her the chill whipping icy needles against her fingers, she stiffened slightly before steeling herself and marching forward at close to double her previous pace, her hands working furiously to tighten her insufficient jacket as she strode. It was one of those nights in late October where a sudden drop in temperature had taken everyone by surprise _as if it didn't happen every year,_ she thought derisively. She maintained a fast pace but kept an eye on her footing as she detected the first signs of frost crisping the pavement.

Finally, her building was in sight, and Hermione fumbled in her bag for her keys, wishing she had for once headed Ginny's instruction to clear the thing out as her hand came across crumpled receipt after crumpled receipt. Working against her desire to get inside she stopped under the artificial glare of a streetlight to better be able to root around in her bag, it was the last of the illuminations before she would reach home and she would have no hope if she wandered further into the darkness. The inclement weather had made it much darker than it normally was, had she thought ahead of time she would have apparated straight into her living room from the office. Finally feeling a metal clink against the ring on her finger she pulled her hand up victoriously and raced towards the finish line, sighing in relief as she yanked the main door open and felt the warmth of the lobby flood through her.

Hermione pressed the button to call the lift as she opened her post box, pulling out a stack of muggle letters and scooting into the lift once it had belled its arrival. She was absently reading a 'local offers' pamphlet when an arm jutted out between the closing doors in front of her. "Hold the lift," a thick, decidedly male voice instructed urgently, and Hermione took a quick step backwards to reach the hold door button. The doors stuttered, eventually pulling back with a groan and a tall, slim man appeared between them, nodding gratefully to her before stepping into the space.

Hermione didn't recognise him, but then there were over a hundred flats in this block alone, she barely new above five people to speak to and that was only as far as a cursory greeting, she could hardly be considered a social being. _He could even be visiting_ ; she pondered to herself as the doors slammed closed and she stepped away from the illuminated panel to the back wall making some room for him to hit the button for the floor he wanted, but he remained where he was standing.

"It appears we are going to the same destination," he said, smiling warmly at her. She shyly smiled back; there was something about him, something familiar that she couldn't quite place.

The lift began its ascent, and she stuffed the ripped envelopes into her bag, it didn't appear that there was anything from Australia, not that she had been expecting it, her parents would need time to cool off to… her thoughts were derailed when all of a sudden the lift floor jerked _violently,_ and Hermione was shunted forward, only just managing to place both hands on the wall to brace herself before the lights flickered and went out.

 _Great, just bloody great._

She reached into her jacket pocket for her phone to use as a light but as she grasped it, the emergency power came on. It made a horrid buzzing sound as it kicked in and then the lift was bathed in a dull light, coating everything in sight with a faint orange glow.

Hermione found herself in front of the panel of buttons again, and she turned to speak to the lifts other occupant, jumping a little when she realised he was a lot closer than she thought, standing almost directly behind her. They must have both been moved around by the aggressive stop. Her eyes unconsciously fell to his chest; she was eye level with the base of his neck, and he was just so… she flushed as she realised her mind had derailed and she could swear she heard a deep inhale as blood rushed to her face.

"I'll just try the alarm" she managed to stutter out before turning back around and cringing to herself at her uncharacteristic behaviour.

She pressed the tiny glowing yellow bell, and a crisp dialling sound rang into the small space, on an on the tone went but nothing happened, she tried again and again, but there was no answer. Huffing she pulled her phone out of her pocket and unlocked the screen, only to discover there was no signal.

"Damn" she cursed looking skyward.

"Problem?" the man asked silkily.

"Well no one seems to be answering the bell" she replied needless pointing to the button "and my phone hasn't got any bars… have you got a signal on yours?" she asked hopefully.

He shook his head, and she was about to say he hadn't checked when he spoke again "I don't carry one."

 _That was odd;_ Hermione had thought all muggles carried phones. She had only brought one recently, schooling at Hogwarts had left her somewhat behind in technology, but as she had opted to stay in muggle flats, she had to get to grips with things quickly so as not to stand out. She let her eyes sweep over the man again; he appeared to be about her age, no more than twenty-five, in any case, she would have considered that muggles without technology were slightly _hippyish_ , but the man was immaculately turned out.

Hermione bit her lip and thought about what to do next, her mind went to her wand that was holstered under her skirt, against her thigh; she could have used it to get the doors open at least, but it was inadvisable to draw it in such a small enclosed space. The man was big, if he freaked out, she could very likely get hurt and then where would she be. No, it seemed it would be best to wait, the building was well managed, someone would have to detect that the alarm had been pressed sooner or later.

She shivered as the cool air seemed to seep in through the crack in the doors and the man shrugged his heavy coat off before holding it out to her. "Oh no, I couldn't, but thank you, though" she replied politely shaking her head.

He stepped closer, holding his arm almost against her chest "I insist" he said firmly. His accent was smooth and rich, aristocratic with an edge that she couldn't quite place. Though his tone seemed warm there was an air of command in his words, she didn't think he was likely to be persuaded; _old fashioned values_ her Mother's voice chimed in her head.

"Thank you," she murmured, and he nodded. She moved to take the coat from him, but he stepped back, holding out the collar for her to put it on, feeling it was silly to try and resist a kindly meant offer twice in under a minute she moved to push an arm in. Once she had the thick coat on, she pulled on the sides trying to subtly snuggle into the much-needed warmth, only to still completely when she felt his hands on her neck.

"My apologies" he breathed against her already goose-pimpled flesh, "your hair was caught."

Hermione managed a nod before spinning abruptly, placing her back against the opposite wall, where her neck was safe from accidental touching, though she already missed the sensation. His jacket was big on her; the sleeves hung beyond her hands, and the double breasted front could almost wrap around her fully again. She turned her head under the pretence of freeing a trapped curl to sniff against the lapel, but she could detect nothing, not even the smell of the wool, no aftershave, no smell of man, nothing.

"It seems we will be here for a while," he said, seemingly without a care in the world. He leant back against the wall; now he was clad in just a dark blue jumper she could see better how his long, dark brown hair fell almost to his shoulders, thick eyebrows sat low above dark grey eyes and full lips. He was attractive, very much so, so handsome in fact that he was almost beautiful, would have been, were it not for the rugged casual air that offset his clean lines. He shuffled against the wall as if getting comfortable and pushed his long legs further out in front of him.

 _His mannerisms were so familiar._

"You are anxious to get home," he said cocking his head to the side, assessing.

"Yes" she admitted quietly, she didn't want to appear rude, but she did want to be at home right now, preferably with a glass of wine, curled up next to her grumpy cat in thick, sexless, pyjamas.

He smirked, and she seriously wondered for a moment if he had read her thoughts. "Why don't you pull out your wand then and get us moving," he said crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"How did you…." she began incredulously.

"I was a wizard" he interrupted.

"This is brilliant," she exclaimed jumping forward to reach into her bag. In the excitement she failed to notice that with all of their moving around, the long shoulder strap had tucked itself under her heel and as she stepped she was propelled forward, landing harshly on her knees and upending the contents of her bag as she clattered to the floor.

The man was on her in a flash, "are you ok?" he asked urgently, dropping down beside her.

"Yes" she breathed out, as pain lanced up her legs and she winced as she tried to climb "embarrassed more than anything," she leant down to pick up her things and her hands connected with her flat, compact mirror…

"Wait…" she said, her mind suddenly racing, "you said… you said _was._ "

"I did" he confirmed in a quiet voice, and she started as she registered the sound was right next to her ear.

With shaking fingers she picked up the mirror and looked into it, only her reflection greeted her despite the man being crouched at her shoulder, and Hermione felt ice slip around her heart. For a moment it was as if she had seen the reflection of the basilisk from the second year again as her entire body went rigid. His hand on her hip brought her back to her senses, and she righted herself, despite her screaming knees, and stepped away from him.

"You're… you're…" she muttered without direction.

"Regulus Arcturus Black, at your service," he said with a slight bow and a wink.

"Your reflection? It wasn't… wasn't" she shook her head as her mind processed his words "Wait…. _Regulus_?"

"I expected you to recognise me sooner Miss Granger, I will admit, though it's not entirely gentlemanly to do so, to being a little hurt" his eyes glittered, and she realised with some confusion that he was teasing her.

Her brain couldn't process what he was saying, but then all of his little movements, his appearance, that was why she thought he had looked so familiar, _he reminded her of Sirius_.

Her fingers moved towards the pleats of her skirt, but it was too late.

"I don't think so," he said blankly while holding her precious wand aloft in front of her "thank you for keeping it in such an _interesting_ place, much more fun _for me_ than a pocket" his mouth pulling into a broad smile.

She felt her heart beat faster then, trapped; she was wholly stuck. "You're supposed to be dead" she whispered, her throat dry, _keep him talking Hermione_.

"Yes that" he responded in a bored tone "technically rumours of my _demise_ were indeed correct" he explained.

Hermione shook her head trying desperately to organise her thoughts, "what... what are you?"

He smiled at her before creeping forward, the leisurely pace of a man, or whatever he was, who was holding all the cards, who had already won. Hermione heard a slick clicking sound as he opened his full lips and two large fangs descended into view. She backed against the wall, but there was nowhere left to go "look I just want to go okay, I won't tell anyone I've seen you" she said raising her hands in front of herself as if they would offer any defence.

"I'm _so sorry_ Hermione, that's just not possible" he sympathised, actually managing to look sorry, somehow the conciliatory nature of his address made her so angry.

"Why didn't you?... _The war_ " she all but shouted at him, he had left them all, left Sirius; his brother had thought he was dead.

If he was concerned by her yelling he didn't let on "I found once I was no longer living, mortal concerns mattered little to me, my parents would not have welcomed me back. They were better off thinking of me as dead" he said without emotion.

"Then why come here?... Why now?"

He flew in front of her then, his movements little more than a blur as he pinned her against the lift wall, his arms crowding her, before he stretched forward, tugging on a curl "can you not guess?" he taunted.

"What you happen across a girl to… to… _to drink_ that just so happened to have a link to your former life?"

He moved back from her then, his cool grey eyes setting on hers, "it wasn't a coincidence Hermione" he said shaking his head slightly.

"What do you mean?" she panted.

"This took an _incredible_ amount of planning, planning that I'm sure _someone like you_ would appreciate," he said as he moved his head closer to her again, "I have learnt _everything_ there is to know about you, _everything_ I needed to know. I have been dead longer than I lived and I find it's time for some companionship."

"I can't offer you that… Regulus" she forced out the name, the word sounding strange.

"Maybe not right now," he said as he pushed his coat away from her shoulders "but tomorrow night you will be perfect."

Her eyes widened at the implication of his words, and a wicked smirk was the last thing she saw with mortal eyes, as the lights flickered again and the small space was plunged into darkness.

* * *

 _Driven by the strangle of vein_

 _Showing no mercy I'd do it again_

 _Open up your eyes_

 _You keep on crying_

 _Baby I'll bleed you dry_


End file.
